Camille felt anger now.
Not because paperwork touched metal.
Because the two men were comfortable.
That mattered.
Comfort with contempt means practice.
She stepped toward the corridor.
Everett grabbed a chrome crowd-control stand used to separate guests from technical areas and shoved it across the opening.
Its weighted base scraped over the floor.
“Stop.”
Camille stopped.
He pointed back toward the gala.
“The aircraft isn’t a photo prop.”
Several people nearby turned.
Arthur gave a short laugh.
Camille heard it.
Everett continued.
“If you want pictures, someone can take you beside the display jet.”
A woman near the event entrance looked over.
Then a man.
Phones did not rise yet.
But attention gathered.
Camille said:
“I’m here about the maintenance records on aircraft four.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Please.”
Camille looked toward her folio.
“Read the documents.”
Everett gestured at her gown.
“People dressed for galas don’t inspect airplanes.”
Camille’s anger cooled.
That was when she became dangerous.
Not because she planned revenge.
Because she stopped caring whether the two men understood yet.
She turned her head slightly toward Hangar Two.
The large door was partly open.
A mechanic moved quickly beyond it.
Then another.
She heard Daniel before she saw him.
“Ms. Vaughn!”
Everett froze.
Arthur turned.
Daniel Mercer came through the hangar doorway carrying a tablet in one hand and a small evidence pouch in the other.
His gray work shirt was marked with grease near one shoulder.
His face looked worse than his message had sounded.
He moved directly toward Camille.
Then saw the barricade.
The scattered papers.
Everett.
Arthur.
He stopped.
“What happened?”
Camille said:
“Apparently people dressed for galas don’t inspect airplanes.”
Daniel stared at Everett.
Then Arthur.
Everett’s face had lost color.
Arthur’s changed more slowly.
Daniel looked back at Camille.
“We have a bigger problem.”
“How big?”
“Aircraft four’s identification plate doesn’t match the maintenance history.”
Silence.
Camille felt every muscle in her body become still.
“Explain.”
Daniel held up the evidence pouch.
Inside was a small metal plate.
“We pulled the panel because the mounting pattern looked wrong.”
“I compared the internal manufacturer identifiers.”
“The installed plate belongs to another airframe.”
Everett’s face changed.
Arthur whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
Daniel ignored him.
Camille asked:
“Which airframe?”
“Aircraft two.”
She stared.
Daniel continued.
“But aircraft two currently has a plate corresponding to aircraft six.”
Camille felt the floor change beneath the evening.
Not physically.
Legally.
Financially.
Operationally.
An identification mismatch could be clerical.
Two could indicate serious records failure.
A chain across multiple aircraft suggested something much worse.
“Have you checked the others?”
“Three so far.”
“And?”
“All inconsistent.”
Arthur stepped forward.