Part Two: The Second Problem

Elise Tanner arrived at the crew lounge forty minutes later. She was carrying a tablet and a folder. Her face was tight with the particular tension of someone who had just uncovered something they didn’t want to believe.

“Your vendor credential was duplicated,” she said.

“I figured.”

“You figured.”

“Whoever did it knew the system. They logged in at a time when nobody would notice. They built a paper trail that pointed at me.”

Elise sat down. “Your shop feed confirmed your alibi. You were at Reed Aeroservice.”

“I told them I was.”

“The credential was cloned. Someone in the company had access to your information.”

Callum didn’t react. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I’m not authorized to investigate that.”

“So who’s going to?”

“That’s why I’m here. Verona wants to offer you something.”

Callum waited.

“The company will honor the $5 million commitment,” Elise said. “If you sign a post-service confirmation stating the aircraft is airworthy.”

“I won’t sign it.”

Elise blinked. “What?”

“The aircraft is not airworthy. I’m not signing a document that says otherwise.”

“The problem is fixed. The pin is oriented correctly—”

“There’s a second problem.”

“A second problem.”

“The fuel pressure system. It’s cycling irregularly. It doesn’t trigger an alarm now, but it will at altitude.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I listened.”

Elise was quiet for a moment. “That’s a diagnosis based on—”

“On thirty years of working on engines. On knowing what they should sound like. On hearing the difference.”

“Verona needs to get to New York. The Aurelius deadline—”

“Is manufactured. Deadlines can be shifted. Aircraft can’t.”

Elise looked at him for a long moment. Then she set the folder down.

“Tell me what you heard.”

Callum described the irregular cycle. The four-point-three-second pattern. The way it didn’t trigger an alarm now but would at altitude. The gap in the monitoring log that shouldn’t exist.

Elise pulled up the log on her tablet. “You’re right. There’s a gap.”

“I’m always right about that.”

She scrolled through the data. “This gap is at the 11-minute mark.”

“Precisely. That’s when the pressure should have registered.”

“Someone edited the log.”

“Someone was very careful about it.”

Elise looked up. “You’re not just a farm mechanic, are you?”

“Never said I was. People just assumed.”

“I’m not assuming anything.”

“Good. That’s the only way to find the truth.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Elise spoke.

“Warren filed three anomaly reports on the fuel pressure system over the last four months. I flagged all of them. He closed them as sensor drift.”

“Was it sensor drift?”

“No. It was the same pattern. Four-point-three seconds.”

“What did you do with your personal copies?”

Elise went still. “How do you know I kept personal copies?”

“Because you’re a safety engineer. You know what happens to reports that get closed incorrectly. You kept them somewhere off the system.”

“I did.”

“That’s the evidence.”

“It’s not enough. It’s circumstantial. I can’t prove Warren was involved in the sabotage.”

“You don’t need to prove anything right now. You just need to preserve the data.”

“Preserve it for what?”

“For when the full investigation starts.”

Elise stood. “I’ll talk to Verona. She needs to know about the second problem.”

“She already knows.”

“Then why isn’t she doing anything?”

“Because she’s trying to decide who to trust.”

“And who would you trust?”

“Trust the evidence. Not the person presenting it.”

Elise walked to the door. “Your daughter called. She left a message. Said you forgot your lunch.”

“I didn’t forget. I was busy.”

“She also said you promised to pick her up at 6.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Will you?”

“I will.”

Elise left. Callum sat alone in the lounge. He thought about Paige. Sixteen years old. Sharper than anyone gave her credit for. She’d inherited that from her mother. She’d also inherited her mother’s habit of asking questions that made him uncomfortable.

He pulled out his phone. One message from Paige: “Dad, are you okay? I heard there was some kind of incident at the hangar.”

He typed back: “I’m fine. Just a long day. I’ll be there at 6.”

Paige: “You always say that. You’re always late.”

Callum: “I’m not late. I’m just… delayed.”

Paige: “That’s the same thing.”

Callum: “Not exactly.”

Paige: “Whatever. I’ll be at the shop. Don’t forget my lunch.”

Callum: “I won’t.”

He put his phone away. Then he walked to the hangar door. Verona was standing near the aircraft. She was on the phone, her voice tight and controlled.

“Yes, I understand the timeline. Yes, I’m aware of the consequences. No, I’m not going to rush a decision that could compromise safety.”

She hung up. She turned to face him.

“Your phone call was verified,” she said. “You were at your shop when the credential was used. Warren was wrong.”

“He wasn’t wrong. He was lying.”

“Probably. But I can’t prove that yet.”

“Then prove it.”

“Callum—”

“This wasn’t a mistake. The pin was oriented backward. The software was modified. Someone wanted this aircraft to fail.”

“And you think Warren did it?”

“I think he’s involved. I don’t think he acted alone.”

“Who else?”

“Who benefits if you miss the deadline?”

Verona’s face shifted. “Gideon.”

“Your COO?”

“He’s been opposed to the Aurelius acquisition from the beginning. He’s been pushing for a partial sale to Meridian.”

“Then you have a suspect.”

“I have a theory. Theories aren’t evidence.”

“Then get evidence.”

Verona stepped closer. “You’re very direct for someone who just walked into this crisis.”

“I’ve been in crisis before. It’s not a theory. It’s a fact.”

“You served in the Air Force?”

“Maintenance crew. I learned to fix things. But I also learned to see what was really going on underneath.”

“Underneath what?”

“Underneath the story people tell you. Usually, there’s a different story.”

“Where did you learn that?”

“On deployments. When you’re thousands of miles from home and you’re responsible for a piece of equipment that people’s lives depend on, you learn to see through the surface.”

Verona studied him. “What are you seeing through my surface?”

Callum met her eyes. “You’re scared. Not of the crisis. Of what it says about your judgment.”

“My judgment.”

“You worked with Gideon for six years. You trusted him. Now you’re discovering he may have betrayed you.”

“That’s not fear. That’s anger.”

“Anger’s just fear with a different name.”

Verona didn’t respond. She turned and walked away.

Callum watched her go. Then he returned to the aircraft. He needed to understand the second problem.

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