For the first time, they spoke like two people rather than roles.
Vivian looked toward the young family.
“The hardest part was reviewing old complaints.”
“How many?”
“Thirty-one I handled personally.”
Edward waited.
“Some were legitimate access mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“Some customers were rude.”
“I’m sure.”
“Some lied.”
“That happens.”
Vivian swallowed.
“And some were exactly what they said they were.”
Edward nodded.
“I called seven of them.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“To apologize.”
“How did that go?”
“Badly.”
Edward smiled.
“I imagine.”
“One man hung up.”
“Reasonable.”
“One woman cried.”
“Harder.”
Vivian nodded.
“She told me she had spent twenty years building a company and still expected rooms to question whether she belonged.”
Edward said nothing.
“She said what happened in our lounge wasn’t special enough to remember.”
Vivian’s voice cracked slightly.
“That hurt more than anything.”
Edward understood.
Being someone’s unforgettable mistake could flatter ego in a strange way.
Being one of many ordinary humiliations was worse.
Vivian stood.
“I won’t bother you.”
“You didn’t.”
She hesitated.
“Thank you.”
Edward nodded.
Then she walked away.
Edward watched the white jet outside.
Not the same aircraft from the original day.
That one had been sold.
Even billionaires replaced machines.
His own health was beginning to change too.
Knees.
Blood pressure.
Hearing.
Nothing catastrophic.
Just time.
He stepped back from daily operations at seventy-five.
Then resigned as Chairman at seventy-eight.
The Board named him Chairman Emeritus.
He hated the title.
It sounded like a university building.
He kept flying.
Usually commercially through his own network.
Sometimes private.
Often in ordinary clothes.
Not as tests anymore.
Because that was how he had always been comfortable.
The brown jacket finally tore beyond practical repair.
His granddaughter stole it.
Had it restored.
Gave it back on his eightieth birthday.
Edward stared.
“You spent money fixing this?”
“Yes.”
“It was supposed to look bad.”
“It still does.”
He laughed.
She had inherited his temperament.
His granddaughter eventually joined the aviation company.
Not as an executive.
Operations trainee.
Edward told nobody at her terminal she was family.
She insisted.
Three months later she called.
“Granddad.”
“Yes?”
“Your company is annoying.”
“Not mine anymore.”
“Liar.”
“What happened?”
“Passengers think because it’s private aviation, weather should obey them.”
Edward laughed.
“Welcome.”
She became serious.
“Did people really try to kick you out of your own lounge?”
“Yes.”
“Because of the jacket?”
“Partly.”