Something in the answer nearly made her smile.
She refused.
Instead, she handed the binder to her assistant.
“Bring the pilots in.”
The Hangar Manager frowned.
“All seven?”
“All seven.”
Within twenty minutes, three pilots physically present on the field stood in the hangar.
The others joined by phone.
The Billionaire CEO addressed them.
“The aircraft has completed scheduled maintenance.”
A Pilot interrupted.
“Not signed.”
The Single Dad leaned against a tool cabinet.
The Billionaire CEO looked toward the Pilot.
“You reviewed the discrepancy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you personally believe the airplane is unsafe?”
The Pilot hesitated.
“That isn’t the question.”
“It is exactly the question.”
“No.”
The Pilot shook his head.
“The question is whether the maintenance discrepancy is resolved.”
“It isn’t.”
“So you refuse.”
“Yes.”
She turned toward the next pilot.
“Same?”
“Yes.”
Third pilot.
“Yes.”
The Billionaire CEO looked furious.
One of the pilots shifted awkwardly.
“It isn’t about the value of the aircraft.”
“We fly expensive airplanes every day.”
“It’s about the signoff.”
She gestured toward the Single Dad.
“One mechanic.”
The pilot looked at him.
Then back.
“That mechanic.”
The words bothered her.
“What does that mean?”
The Pilot paused.
“I’ve flown aircraft he’s signed for.”
“So?”
“I trust the signature.”
“And if he refuses?”
“I don’t fly.”
The Billionaire CEO looked toward the others.
Same answer.
One by one.
No drama.
No loyalty speech.
No hero worship.
Just professional certainty.
The mechanic remained silent.
That somehow made it worse.
After the pilots left, the Billionaire CEO turned toward him.
“You enjoy this.”
“No.”
“You look like you do.”
“I look tired.”
“You’ve grounded my airplane, challenged my aviation director, made seven pilots refuse me, and you look bored.”
“I have a daughter waiting at home.”
That was the first personal detail he had offered.
The Billionaire CEO noticed.
“How old?”
“Nine.”
“Does she know you’re holding up my jet?”
“She thinks I fix airplanes.”
“That is rather understated.”
“She’s nine.”
The Billionaire CEO looked at the clock.
“You have childcare?”
He stared.
“That’s an odd question.”
“I’m asking whether you have somewhere more important to be.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
The simplicity irritated her again.
Then intrigued her.
She sat on the edge of the rolling workbench beside the airplane.
One leg crossed over the other.
The Single Dad returned to his tools.
She watched him.
He opened the maintenance manual.
Compared a measurement.
Then checked the actuator again.
He was ignoring her.
Almost intentionally.
The Billionaire CEO removed her glasses.
“Single Dad.”
He looked over.
“You know I could replace you.”
“Yes.”
“I could have another mechanic sign.”