Victoria heard the question.
Martin looked at Ethan.
“Apex Aerospace?”
Ethan nodded.
Martin removed the headset slowly.
“You worked at Apex?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“Flight systems.”
“That is not specific.”
Ethan looked toward the helicopter.
He disliked résumé conversations.
They often transformed people in ways he found uncomfortable.
A minute earlier, Martin had been talking to him normally.
Now everyone was waiting as though a title might retroactively change the quality of the repair.
Victoria asked, “What kind of flight systems?”
Ethan exhaled.
“Startup integration, primarily.”
Martin went completely still.
“For rotorcraft?”
“Yes.”
“Executive platforms?”
“Some.”
Martin stared.
The factory engineer on the headset said, “Ask him whether he was on the Apex Vantage integration group.”
Ethan heard him.
“Yes.”
Martin looked toward the aircraft.
Then back at Ethan.
“You worked on the systems architecture that informed platforms like this.”
“Related architecture.”
“How long?”
“Sixteen years in advanced aviation engineering altogether. Most of it at Apex.”
Victoria studied him.
The uniform suddenly stopped making sense to her.
Not because maintenance work was beneath him.
Because she realized how much information she had allowed the uniform to decide for her.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Five years.”
“And nobody knew?”
“My supervisor knows some of it.”
Martin said, “Some of it?”
Ethan smiled.
“He never asked for the rest.”
Victoria folded her arms.
“Why would someone with your background take this position?”
That was the moment Ethan’s expression changed.
Not defensiveness.
Distance.
A door closing gently.
Martin recognized it before Victoria did.
He stepped back.
Victoria realized the question might have crossed somewhere personal.
“You don’t have to answer.”
Ethan looked across the airfield.
“No. It’s fine.”
He paused.
“My wife got sick.”
Nobody moved.
“I was traveling a lot then. Engineering reviews. Development sites. Factory support.”
He rubbed one thumb against the handle of his diagnostic case.
“We had a daughter.”
Victoria said nothing.
“I thought I could keep doing both.”
He gave a small smile without humor.
“You find out pretty fast which parts of life accept rescheduling.”
The airfield noise continued around them.
A tug moved in the distance.
An auxiliary unit started somewhere near another hangar.
“My wife was sick for a long time,” Ethan continued.
“I left Apex because I wanted to be home.”
Martin lowered his eyes.
“She passed away last year.”
Victoria’s posture softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Nine.”
The answer completed something for Victoria.
The early shift.
The predictable hours.
The quiet job.
The reason he had apparently walked away from a career most engineers would spend their lives trying to reach.
“You left all of that.”
Ethan looked at her.
“No.”
Victoria waited.
“I left a job.”
He glanced toward the terminal.
“I kept everything that mattered.”
Victoria remembered that sentence for a long time.
The acquisition meeting nearly disappeared from her mind until her phone buzzed again.
Her flight coordinator.
The helicopter had completed verification.