He leaned forward.
“But do not tell me that eight hundred million dollars is being delayed because somebody can't find a document.”
The younger executive looked down.
He wanted to say that missing documentation could be a serious issue.
He wanted to explain that maintenance records weren't merely administrative decoration.
He wanted to ask whether the outside contractor had actually performed the work described.
But he'd watched other employees challenge the financial officer.
The conversations rarely ended well.
So he nodded.
And left the meeting.
That afternoon, Crestline circulated a revised maintenance-status summary to Meridian.
The document included reassuring language about completed inspections and the aircraft's operational history.
But it didn't include all the underlying evidence the independent reviewers requested.
Meridian's chief executive read it carefully.
Then called her technical director.
“Does this answer your question?”
“No.”
“What's missing?”
“Independent confirmation of the relevant work and a clear reconciliation of the component history.”
She looked toward the summary.
“Could this simply be poor recordkeeping?”
“Yes.”
“Could it be something worse?”
“Possibly. We don't have enough evidence.”
She appreciated the answer.
It was precise.
The director wasn't exaggerating.
He wasn't making accusations.
He was identifying uncertainty.
She looked toward the next day's itinerary.
The hangar inspection had been scheduled for noon.
The billionaire wanted photographs.
The financial officer wanted signatures.
The bankers wanted confirmation.
And several journalists had been invited to cover the anticipated closing.
The CEO looked toward the technical report.
Then she said, “We're not releasing funds on assumptions.”
The director nodded.
She continued.
“I want to meet the maintenance personnel who raised the original questions.”
He hesitated.
“Crestline may resist that.”
She smiled faintly.
“Then we'll find out whether they're interested in a transaction based on verified facts.”
The morning of the closing began with a telephone call from her mother.
The CEO was standing in her Manhattan apartment, looking toward the skyline while her stylist adjusted the enormous sculptural loops of her blue denim dress.
Her hair fell in a glossy black curtain down her back.
The long strands extended well below her hips, moving gently every time she turned.
She had chosen silver angular sunglasses, a massive gold cuff, and pointed heels to complete the outfit.
Her mother saw her on a video call.
For several seconds, she simply stared.