Grant Ellison stepped through the conference-room door.
He saw Naomi.
The green coat.
The handbag.
The folder beneath the aircraft.
Then Preston.
His expression became dangerous.
“Naomi?”
She looked toward him.
“Grant.”
Every face in the hangar turned toward her.
Grant walked quickly across the floor.
“What happened?”
Preston looked from him to Naomi.
Then back.
“Wait.”
Nobody answered.
Preston’s voice dropped.
“You’re actually—”
Grant cut him off.
“Yes.”
The billionaire’s mouth remained open.
Grant looked at Naomi’s sleeve.
“Did someone touch you?”
Naomi’s eyes moved toward the security manager.
Mercer took one step backward.
Preston immediately spoke.
“This is a misunderstanding.”
Naomi looked at him.
“No.”
“Ms. Carter—”
“So now you know my name.”
Preston’s face reddened.
Conrad Whitmore emerged from the private office at the far side of the hangar.
At sixty-four, he was older than Preston and quieter in every way. Whitmore had built the operational side of the company while Preston became its public face.
He saw the red screen.
Then Naomi.
He stopped.
Unlike Preston, Conrad recognized her immediately.
“Oh no.”
He walked faster.
“Ms. Carter.”
Naomi said nothing.
Conrad looked toward Grant.
“What happened?”
Grant answered:
“I was about to ask the same thing.”
Preston stepped forward.
“She came in without identification and represented herself—”
Naomi raised one hand.
He stopped talking.
That surprised everyone more than shouting would have.
Naomi looked toward Conrad.
“I arrived for the final inspection.”
“Yes.”
“I identified myself.”
Conrad’s face tightened.
She continued.
“Mr. Vale laughed.”
Preston interrupted.
“I thought—”
Naomi did not look at him.
“I presented the closing folder.”
She pointed toward the jet.
Every head followed.
The black folder lay on the ground near the nose gear.
Conrad stared.
“How did it get there?”
Nobody answered.
Naomi did.
“One of your partners kicked it there.”
Charles Avery suddenly found the floor fascinating.
Conrad’s expression hardened.
Naomi continued.
“Mr. Vale informed me that seven hundred seventy million dollars does not appear merely because someone dresses expensive.”
Conrad closed his eyes for half a second.
“Naomi—”
“Ms. Carter.”
Preston’s face tightened.
Conrad said immediately:
“Ms. Carter.”
Naomi turned toward Mercer.
“Then your security director put his hand on me and shoved me back from the aircraft.”
Mercer spoke quickly.
“I was instructed to escort you out.”
“You were instructed to escort me.”
Naomi’s voice remained calm.
“You chose to put your hands on me after I specifically told you not to.”
Mercer said nothing.
Conrad looked as if he had aged ten years in two minutes.