Marcus continued.
"The real value is the data."
Silence.
"What data?" Sloan asked.
"Flight patterns. Cargo movement. Maintenance schedules. Government transportation routes."
Elena's expression changed.
"That's classified information."
"Not classified."
Marcus swallowed.
"Sensitive."
Grant's eyes hardened.
"Who wanted it?"
Marcus didn't answer.
Conrad stepped forward.
"Who?"
Marcus finally whispered a name.
"Vantage Meridian."
Grant's expression changed.
Sloan recognized it.
Vantage Meridian was an international logistics conglomerate that had been trying to penetrate the American aviation market for years.
They had failed repeatedly.
Until now.
Grant stood.
"How much?"
Marcus looked at him.
"What?"
"How much were they paying you?"
Marcus didn't answer.
Grant placed a final document on the table.
"Seven million dollars."
Marcus closed his eyes.
Conrad stared at him.
"You sold access to my company."
Marcus opened his mouth.
"Mr. Blackthorn—"
"You're finished."
Security entered.
Marcus was escorted out.
Sloan watched him disappear through the door.
Then she turned toward Grant.
"You knew."
"Suspected."
"Since when?"
"Before the flight."
She frowned.
"Then why did you let me board?"
Grant looked at her.
"Because you weren't the problem."
She didn't understand.
"Someone wanted you blamed."
"Why?"
"Because you're visible."
Sloan's face went pale.
Grant continued.
"They needed someone whose name could absorb the damage."
Her entire career had been positioned as a shield.
And she had walked straight into it.
Conrad stood.
"Sloan."
She looked at him.
"You still have a job."
She was stunned.
"Why?"
"Because you didn't do this."
He looked at Grant.
"And because someone underestimated both of you."
Grant gave a small smile.
"That's usually when mistakes happen."
The Flight That Almost Never Happened
The next afternoon, Grant returned to North Ridge.
Sloan went with him.
Not because she wanted to.
Because she needed answers.
At the hangar, hundreds of employees were working.
Engineers moved between aircraft.
Technicians inspected turbines.
Computer screens displayed maintenance schedules.
Grant walked through the facility greeting people.
A mechanic called out:
"Morning, boss."
Grant stopped.
"Afternoon, actually."
The mechanic laughed.
"Whatever you say."
Sloan watched.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody acted intimidated.
They simply respected him.
A young woman approached.
"Mr. Holloway, engineering cleared the G650."
Grant nodded.
"Good."
She smiled.
"Your wife here?"
Sloan looked surprised.
Grant glanced at her.
"Ex-wife."
The woman immediately looked uncomfortable.
Grant smiled.
"Relax."
She walked away.
Sloan followed him.
"You really know everyone."
"I try."
"How many employees?"
"About eleven thousand."
She stopped.
"Eleven thousand?"
Grant nodded.
"And you still know their names?"
"Not all of them."
He looked toward the hangar floor.
"But I know the people who work directly with the aircraft."
Sloan smiled faintly.
"You always were like that."
"Like what?"
"Quietly paying attention."
Grant looked at her.
"Someone has to."
They reached the aircraft.
Grant walked around the landing gear.
The repaired section was already being examined.
Owen approached.
"Mr. Holloway."
Grant smiled.
"How's it going?"
"Engineering confirmed the fracture."
"I know."
"They said if it had progressed further—"
Owen stopped.
Grant nodded.
"Good catch."
Owen smiled.
Sloan watched the exchange.
Then she noticed something.
Owen wasn't afraid of Grant.
He was proud.
Grant had noticed him.
That mattered.
She suddenly understood something she had failed to understand during nine years of marriage.
Grant's wealth had never been the thing that made him powerful.
His attention was.
He noticed people.
He noticed machines.
He noticed problems.
He noticed possibilities.
And he had built a company around that habit.
That evening, Sloan and Grant stood outside the hangar.
Rain began falling.
"I owe you more than an apology," Sloan said.
Grant didn't respond.
"I treated your work like it was beneath me."
"You did."
"I was wrong."
"Yes."
She smiled sadly.
"You don't make apologies easy."
"I'm not trying to."
"I know."
They stood quietly.
Then Sloan asked:
"Did you ever regret the divorce?"
Grant looked toward the runway.
"Sometimes."
She looked at him.
"Sometimes?"
"I regretted how we ended."
"Not the divorce?"
Grant took a breath.
"I think we needed to become different people."
Sloan nodded.
"Do you love someone else?"
He smiled.
"No."
She didn't know why that answer hurt.
Maybe because she had expected him to have moved on.
Maybe because part of her wanted him to have found happiness without her.
Maybe because she was beginning to realize she had lost something she had never understood.
A voice came from behind them.
"Grant."
They turned.
Captain Reese stood near the aircraft.
"The G650 is cleared."
Grant nodded.
"Good."
Reese looked at Sloan.
"Flying with us?"
She hesitated.
"Yes."
Reese smiled.
"Then I'd suggest staying on the good side of the owner this time."
Sloan laughed for the first time in days.
Grant shook his head.
"Don't encourage her."
They boarded.
This time, Sloan waited until Grant entered first.
She took her seat quietly.
The door closed.
The aircraft began taxiing.
Grant looked across the cabin.
Sloan met his eyes.
Neither said anything.
Then the plane accelerated.
Moments later, they were above the clouds.
The flight attendant approached Grant.
"Mr. Holloway, would you like anything?"
"Coffee."
"Anything else?"
He looked at Sloan.
"Ask her."
Sloan smiled.
"Coffee is fine."
The flight attendant nodded.
Grant leaned back.
For a moment, it felt strangely familiar.
Like the early years of their marriage.
Like before ambition had turned into competition.
Before success had become a measuring stick.
Before they had forgotten how to sit beside each other without trying to win.
But the peace lasted only twenty minutes.
A warning light appeared in the cockpit.
Reese's voice came over the cabin.
"Everyone remain seated."
Grant immediately stood.
Sloan looked at him.
"What happened?"
"Nothing yet."
He walked toward the cockpit.