Private investment group.
“Price?”
“Seven hundred forty million preliminary enterprise value.”
“Did they believe fleet owned?”
Aaron paused.
“Marketing language says ‘six owned and exclusively controlled aircraft.’”
Camille closed eyes.
“Owned.”
“Yes.”
“Footnotes?”
“One footnote references financing arrangements.”
“Not leases?”
“No.”
“Vaughn Meridian named?”
“No.”
“Have they signed?”
“Letter of intent.”
“Any money?”
“Deposit in escrow.”
“How much?”
“Fifty million.”
Camille inhaled.
This had moved far beyond operational shortcuts.
“Buyer know tonight?”
“Not from us yet.”
“They will.”
“We need strategy.”
Camille looked toward aircraft.
“No.”
“We need obligation.”
Aaron waited.
She continued.
“If they are being shown assets that seller doesn’t own, they need correct information.”
“Counsel will notify.”
“Yes.”
“Careful language.”
“Facts only.”
“Understood.”
Then Aaron said:
“Camille.”
“Yes?”
“We also found something involving our own people.”
She became still.
“What?”
“An email from Vaughn Meridian asset manager twelve months ago.”
“Name?”
“Marcus Bell.”
“What did he know?”
“Arthur sent question about utilization reconciliation.”
“Marcus answered: ‘Keep fleet commercially available, clean up paperwork at quarter end.’”
Camille’s stomach dropped.
“Did he know plate swaps?”
“Not clear.”
“But he knew documentation lag.”
“Yes.”
“Was he paid by Sovereign Arc?”
“We’re checking.”
Camille stared through glass.
There it was.
The comforting version of crisis had just died.
It would have been easier if this were simply arrogant billionaires cheating her company.
Now her own house might be involved.
“Preserve Marcus records.”
“Already.”
“Suspend access quietly.”
“Yes.”
“Do not fire.”
“Agreed.”
“Anyone else copied?”
“Regional fleet vice president.”
Camille closed eyes.
“Who?”
“Thomas Reid.”
She knew him well.
Ten years.
Trusted.
Family photographs on his office wall.
Attended company retreats.
Once sat beside Camille at her father’s memorial.
The crisis turned personal now.
That was dangerous.
She said:
“I’m recusing from employment decisions involving Thomas until facts.”
Aaron was quiet.
“Good.”
Camille hated that he sounded relieved.
Meaning he had worried she might not.
At 3:30, she went home.
Not to sleep.
To shower.
By 5:15, she was in Vaughn Meridian’s Miami office.
Board emergency meeting at six.