I'm calling an ambulance right now. She hung up. She looked up at the two men in her office and her voice was hollow. That was the flight surgeon, she said. Cortez just collapsed in the pilot's lounge.
Chest pains. They think it's his heart. They're taking him to the hospital. She swallowed. He's not flying tomorrow.
He's not flying anything for a long time. Nobody spoke. The three of them stood there in that office and the enormity of it settled over the room like a shadow. The demonstration was in less than 24 hours. The government was watching.
The whistleblower complaint was live. The investors were assembled. The senators were confirmed. And the only pilot cleared to fly the SR-9 was on his way to a cardiac unit. Which meant that Falcon Dynamics one day before the flight that would decide its entire had a $50 million aircraft, a billion dollar contract, 600 witnesses, the eyes of the United States government, and no pilot.
None. Except one. Slowly, very slowly, Evelyn Carter lifted her head and looked at Marcus Bennett. And Marcus Bennett looked back at her. And he already knew what she was going to ask.
And every muscle in his body went rigid against it. Because this was the thing. This was the exact thing he had sworn on his wife's grave he would never do again. "No. " He said before she could speak. "Marcus. " "No. " "I came here to save that man's life and to save your company.
I did not come here to get back in that seat. That part of me is gone. I have a daughter. I have a little girl who drew me a picture that says my dad can fly and taped it over her bed. And every single morning I get her breakfast and I take her to school and I come home by 6:00.
And if I climb into that aircraft and something goes wrong, she has nobody. Nobody, Evelyn. Do you understand that her mother is dead? I'm all she has left in this entire world. So, the answer is no.