Vivian looked at him.
“Did it?”
“For eleven days.”
“Why?”
“Fuel supplier canceled our contract.”
“When?”
“Same week Lake Union bought the note.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
This was no longer aggressive acquisition.
It was coordinated pressure.
Maybe legal.
Maybe not.
Certainly not what she had been told.
“How much time?”
Ethan answered.
“Thirty-two days.”
Vivian looked at him.
“And you still refused twelve point eight million.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I sell under your current plan, this place stops being an airfield.”
“It becomes a better one.”
“No.”
He opened the acquisition folder and pulled out the site plan.
Vivian recognized it.
Manufacturing building.
Executive terminal.
Research center.
New runway alignment.
Ethan put one finger on the western edge.
“What is this?”
“Phase Three.”
“Say what it is.”
“Mixed commercial development.”
“Hotels.”
“Restaurants.”
“Office space.”
“Yes.”
“What’s here now?”
Vivian looked at the plan.
“Old hangars.”
“And?”
She looked toward Pete.
He said:
“County emergency staging.”
Ethan nodded.
“During floods.”
“Wildfires.”
“Winter storms.”
Then he pointed at Runway Two.
“This is the only strip in sixty miles aligned for certain crosswind conditions.”
Vivian frowned.
“Our aviation team marked it redundant.”
“Your aviation team came here once.”
“On a sunny Tuesday.”
He pointed toward Rescue Six.
“When the county medevac helicopter can’t land at the hospital because of wind, they come here.”
“How often?”
“Not enough for your spreadsheet.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Seven times last year.”
Vivian paused.
“Seven?”
“Three children.”
“Two cardiac transfers.”
“One accident.”
“One premature delivery.”
She looked toward the old helicopter.
“You flew?”
“Twice.”
“Your wife?”
Ethan looked toward the photograph.
“She founded the volunteer program.”
Vivian’s voice softened.
“What happened to her?”
Mia’s pencil stopped.
Ethan noticed.
He stood.
“Not part of the deal.”
Vivian immediately regretted asking.
“You’re right.”
Mia spoke without looking up.
“Cancer.”
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
Mia continued coloring.
“She died when I was four.”
Vivian looked toward the girl.
“I’m sorry.”
Mia shrugged in the strange way children sometimes carried enormous grief because it had become part of normal life.
“Dad says sorry is for people who did something.”
Ethan looked at his daughter.
“I said it can be.”
Mia nodded.
“Close enough.”
Vivian smiled sadly.
Ethan sat again.
“My wife believed rural emergency aviation mattered.”
“So do I.”
“That’s why I keep the field.”