Hoffman bluffed, sitting back in his chair. Walk? Diana said. She stood up, buttoning her coat. I have a plane waiting.
My pilot is eager to get back to his daughter. If you want the deal, sign the original contract and fax it to my legal team before I cross the Atlantic. If you don't, I will aggressively short your stock tomorrow morning and buy your logistics hub in bankruptcy court in 6 months. The choice is yours, gentlemen. She walked out of the room.
She didn't look back. She didn't have to. The silence behind her was the sound of total absolute surrender. Arthur was sitting on a metal folding chair in the FBO maintenance hangar when Diana returned. He was holding a wrench, watching a Swiss mechanic thoroughly inspect the G650's right main gear assembly.
He didn't look up when her heels clicked against the polished concrete floor. They're replacing the seal, Arthur said, testing the weight of the wrench in his hand. And they're flushing the hydraulic lines. We'll be cleared for the return leg in an hour, assuming Evans has stopped hyperventilating. Diana stopped a few feet away from him.
The $50,000 cleared your account an hour ago. My assistant verified the wire. Good. Arthur tossed the wrench onto a nearby tool cart. Lily needs a new winter coat.
The rest goes into the 529 plan. He stood up wiping a smudge of grease off his thumb. He looked exhausted. The adrenaline had worn off leaving behind the bone-deep fatigue of a man who had been awake for 24 hours straight. I fired Captain Harris, Diana said.
Arthur shrugged. He ignored a weeping seal. That's a fireable offense. I need a new chief of aviation, she continued. Her eyes locked on him.
Someone to manage the fleet. Three Gulfstreams, a Bombardier Global, and two helicopters. I need someone who knows when a machine is lying and when a pilot is lazy. I told you on the plane, Arthur said shaking his head. I don't fly for a living.
I'm not leaving my daughter in New Jersey while I sleep in hotels in Tokyo and Zurich. Keep your money. I didn't ask you to fly, Diana said. Arthur stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly. I don't want you in the air.
Diana stepped closer, her tone purely transactional, though a deep underlying respect anchored every word. I want you on the ground. I need someone who understands the physics and doesn't care about the politics. You dictate maintenance schedules. You hire the pilots.
You fire the ones who rely on the autopilot to save them. You oversee everything. Arthur stared at her. I'm a line technician. You're a C-17 commander who just executed a forward slip in a commercial jet to force a frozen gear pin down, Diana countered sharply.
Stop pretending to be invisible. It insults both of us. Arthur looked at the ground, then back up at her. What are the hours? Whatever you want them to be, Diana said.
Work from the Teterboro office, work from your kitchen table, I don't care. As long as my planes don't fall out of the sky, your time is your own. And the pay? 250,000 a year. Full corporate benefits and a dedicated health plan for your daughter. Diana pulled a sleek metal pen from her purse and wrote a number on the back of a business card.
She held it out to him. If the pediatrician co-pays are a problem, this fixes it. Arthur looked at the card. He didn't take it immediately. He thought about the cinder block break room.
He thought about the freezing rain, the cracked leather of his boots, and the constant grinding anxiety of counting pennies at the grocery store. He had grounded himself to protect Lily. He had traded his wings for her security. But he was running himself into the dirt doing it. He reached out and took the card.
The card stock was thick and heavy. I drop her off at school at 8:00, Arthur said, his voice hard, setting the boundaries immediately. I pick her up at 3:15. If you call me between those hours, I won't answer. If there's an emergency, Evans can handle it.
He's young, but he learns fast. Diana's mouth twitched into a small, genuine smile. It was a rare expression on her face, and it looked surprisingly human. Deal, she said. Now, get us home, Arthur.
The return flight was uneventful. The storm had broken over the Atlantic, leaving a trail of smooth, stable air all the way back to New York. When the G650 touched down at Teterboro, the sun was just beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the concrete expanse. Arthur shut down the aircraft, signed the logbook, and handed it to Evans. He walked down the airstair, his boots hitting the tarmac.
The freezing rain from that morning was gone, replaced by a crisp, clear winter chill. He walked past the scaffolding where he had stood just 18 hours ago. He didn't look at the cleaning supplies. He walked into the terminal, bypassed the manager's desk, and pushed through the front doors into the parking lot. His 10-year-old pickup truck was sitting in the corner under a flickering street lamp.
Arthur climbed in. The engine turned over with a rough, uneven growl. He turned the heater on, rubbing his hands together. He pulled his phone from his pocket. A text from Mrs.
Higgins. Lily is drawing in the living room. Cough is totally gone. See you soon. Arthur let out a long, slow breath.
The tension that had lived in his shoulders for the last 4 years cracked just a little. He put the truck in gear and pulled out of the airport. He had an hour before he needed to pick her up. Just enough time to stop at the mall. She wanted the red coat with the faux fur hood.
He was going to buy it. And maybe, for the first time in a long time, they would go out for dinner tonight. Up in the sky, a jet roared overhead, banking west toward the horizon. Arthur didn't look up. He had everything he needed right here on the ground.