Then at the Gulfstream.
Then back at him.
"You?"
"That's what I said."
Marcus glanced between them.
"You two know each other?"
Sloan gave a short laugh.
"We were married."
The executives froze.
Grant said nothing.
Their marriage had lasted nine years.
Their divorce had been finalized three years earlier.
Once, Sloan had told Grant that she loved the way he could make an engine come alive with his hands.
Later, she told him she had outgrown that life.
She wanted boardrooms.
Investors.
Deals.
A bigger world.
Grant had wished her well.
He had never resented her ambition.
But Sloan had gradually begun treating his work as something embarrassing.
The rented hangar.
The grease beneath his fingernails.
The mechanics he called friends.
The old pickup truck.
The fact that he preferred repairing airplanes to talking about them.
The final argument between them had happened at their kitchen table.
Sloan had said, "I can't spend the rest of my life explaining you to people."
Grant had looked at her for a long time.
Then he had asked:
"Explaining what?"
"Why my husband is still fixing engines."
Grant had smiled sadly.
"Maybe because engines still need fixing."
She had filed for divorce six weeks later.
Now, three years afterward, she stood in front of him at the stairs of an eighty-million-dollar aircraft.
Her expression hardened.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"How did you get past security?"
Grant frowned.
"I didn't have to get past security."
Sloan stepped closer.
"This is a private flight."
"I know."
"This aircraft is being used for Blackthorn's Seattle meeting."
Grant looked at the jet.
Then at her.
"Is it?"
Sloan narrowed her eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
He picked up his duffel.
"I'll see you in Seattle."
Sloan laughed.
"You aren't going to Seattle on this plane."
Grant stopped.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Then perhaps you should check the manifest."
Sloan's expression became colder.
"Grant, whatever fantasy you're entertaining, this isn't the place for it."
Several executives were now watching.
Grant didn't argue.
He simply walked toward the aircraft.
Sloan followed.
"Excuse me."
Grant kept walking.
"Grant."
He stopped.
She lowered her voice.
"You don't belong here."
He looked at her.
For a moment, something almost like disappointment crossed his face.
Then it disappeared.
"Are you sure you want to do this in front of everyone?"
Sloan smiled.
It was the smile Grant remembered.
The smile she used when she had already decided how a conversation would end.
"Yes."
She turned toward the flight attendant.
"Remove him."
The flight attendant hesitated.
Grant placed his duffel beside a seat.
Sloan grabbed his gray jacket and threw it onto the carpet.
The cabin became silent.
"Get him off my flight," she said.
Grant looked down at the jacket.
Then at Sloan.
"You really want to humiliate me in front of the entire crew?"
She smiled.
"A man like you doesn't belong anywhere near an eighty-million-dollar cabin."
The words hung in the air.
Grant bent down.
He picked up his jacket.
And then the cockpit door opened.
Captain Reese Callahan stepped out.
He was sixty-one, with thirty years of flight experience and the quiet confidence of a man who had seen almost every kind of crisis an aircraft could experience.
He looked at Grant.
Then at Sloan.
Then at the jacket in Grant's hand.
His voice was completely flat.
"Why are you ordering the owner off his own airplane?"
No one moved.
Sloan blinked.
"What?"
Reese pointed toward Grant.
"Mr. Holloway owns this aircraft."
The CFO's face changed first.
Then the general counsel's.
Then everyone else's.
Sloan stared at Grant.
"No."
Reese continued.
"The aircraft is registered to Holloway Meridian Aviation. The charter was arranged as a courtesy for today's Seattle meeting."
Sloan's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Reese looked toward the flight attendant.
"Please prepare for departure."
Then he turned back to Sloan.
"And perhaps someone should explain to Ms. Harrington who actually invited her onto this aircraft."
The cabin went silent.
Grant placed his jacket over the back of his seat.
He didn't smile.
He didn't celebrate.
He simply sat down.
Sloan remained standing.
For the first time that morning, she realized she had no idea who the man sitting across from her really was.
And that frightened her far more than the humiliation she had just suffered.
The Name Behind the Company
The jet lifted off forty minutes later.
But Sloan did not speak during takeoff.
She sat rigidly in her seat, tablet untouched on her lap.
Across the aisle, Grant stared through the window.
The city disappeared beneath the clouds.
The other executives were pretending to work.
Nobody was actually working.
Everyone was thinking about the same question.
Who exactly was Grant Holloway?
Marcus Vale finally broke the silence.
"Grant."
Grant turned.
"Yes?"
Marcus hesitated.
"I didn't realize you owned the aircraft."
Grant smiled faintly.
"I don't usually mention it."
"Why?"
"Because people behave differently when they know."
Elena looked up.
"You're the founder of Holloway Meridian?"
"Yes."
Richard leaned forward.
"How large is the company now?"
Grant shrugged.
"Depends on how you measure it."
Marcus gave a nervous laugh.
"Revenue?"
Grant considered.
"Last fiscal year?"
"Yes."
"About 3.8 billion."
The cabin became silent again.
Sloan's eyes lifted.
Marcus slowly lowered his pen.
"Three point eight?"
Grant nodded.
"Approximately."
Richard stared at him.
"But Holloway Meridian is privately held."
"Yes."
"No public financial statements."
"No."
"You've never appeared on any of the major business rankings."
"I don't submit information."
Marcus looked confused.
"Why?"
Grant smiled.
"I told you."
He looked toward the window.
"People behave differently when they know."
Sloan finally spoke.
"You could have told me."
Grant looked at her.
"When?"
She had no answer.
During their marriage?
She had known him as a talented mechanic.
She had known he owned a company.
But she had never asked how large it had become.
She had been too busy building her own career.