Disciplinary appeals were reversed only 6 percent of the time.
Not because all original decisions were correct.
Because the appeal process relied primarily on the same management chain that made the first decision.
Malcolm stared at that number for a long time.
Six percent.
Charles did too when he saw it.
“How many appeals did I sign?”
he asked.
The HR analyst hesitated.
“Between 2004 and 2015?”
“Yes.”
“Two hundred and nineteen.”
Charles sat back.
“How many did I personally review?”
Nobody knew.
That answer mattered more.
Further review found the company had no centralized record of who was interviewed during student discipline cases before 2013.
Some files were excellent.
Others terrible.
Malcolm’s was not unique.
That almost comforted Charles.
Then he realized what he was thinking.
He laughed bitterly.
“What?”
his daughter Natalie asked.
They were sitting in his kitchen in Paradise Valley.
Natalie Whitaker was forty, an orthopedic surgeon who had deliberately built a career as far from aviation as possible.
Charles showed her Malcolm’s old appeal.
She read.
Then looked at him.
“You don't remember this?”
“No.”
“You signed it.”
“I know.”
“You always told us never to sign something we didn't read.”
Charles looked irritated.
“Children remember every hypocritical sentence.”
“Useful feature.”
She handed back the tablet.
“Are you asking whether you're a bad person?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Charles frowned.
Natalie continued.
“You do this.”
“Do what?”
“Whenever something threatens how you see yourself, you turn it into an identity trial.”
“Am I racist?”
“Am I bad?”
“Am I a fraud?”
“That makes everybody else responsible for giving you a verdict.”
Charles stared.
“I asked none of those things.”
“You were about to.”
Unfortunately true.
Natalie continued.
“Ask smaller questions.”
“Like?”
“Why did you assume Malcolm wasn't authorized?”
“What did your company’s appeal process reward?”
“Why did Black employees stop advancing at one particular level?”
“What did you know?”
“What didn't you bother knowing?”
Charles looked toward the window.
“That sounds like him.”
“Malcolm?”
“Yes.”
“Then maybe he is good at his job.”
Charles glared.
Natalie smiled.
“Sorry.”
“You are not.”
“No.”
Charles told her about the jet incident.
Every detail.
Including son.
Natalie closed her eyes.
“Oh, Dad.”
“I call everybody son.”
“No, you don't.”