Ethan hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded, greasy piece of paper. Not fancy. Not official. Just a handwritten note. The kind people used when they couldn’t afford lawyers.
“My uncle worked maintenance,” Ethan said. “They fired him last week. He said the plane shouldn’t fly. He said something was wrong with the fuel line. They told him to shut up.”
Victor took the paper.
It listed dates. Parts. A signature. And at the bottom, a number written twice, circled hard.
$180,000.
“What’s this?” Victor asked.
“That’s how much it would’ve cost to fix it,” Ethan said. “They didn’t want to pay.”
Victor felt something cold move through his chest.
He looked at the jet. His jet. Brand new. Shining. Perfect on the outside.
He turned to the pilot. “Did maintenance clear the fuel system this morning?”
The pilot frowned. “Of course. We followed protocol.”
Victor held up the paper. “Did you replace the secondary valve?”
The pilot’s face changed. Just a flicker. But Victor caught it.
“No,” the pilot admitted. “They said it could wait.”
Victor handed the paper back to Ethan.
Then he turned to the flight attendant.
“Cancel the flight.”
Her mouth fell open. “Sir?”
“Now.”