“If it reflected something broader that affects the company, that becomes a board matter.”
Charles heard the distinction.
“And does it?”
“I don't know yet.”
There was that word again.
Not moral certainty.
Investigation.
Charles almost preferred anger.
Malcolm packed his laptop.
Then Charles asked:
“Have we met before?”
Malcolm’s hand stopped.
Angela looked toward him.
Charles continued.
“Not today.”
“You knew me immediately.”
“Most people in business aviation know you.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Malcolm looked at him.
“Yes.”
Charles’s brow furrowed.
“When?”
“2009.”
Nothing.
Malcolm waited.
“Whitaker Aviation Pathways.”
Charles's face changed.
The Pathways program.
He had founded it with great publicity in 2006.
Aviation exposure for high-school and community-college students.
Summer hangar placements.
Scholarships.
Mentors.
Piloting.
Maintenance.
Business operations.
It had won awards.
Charles had spoken about it at conferences for years.
Malcolm continued.
“I was nineteen.”
“Second-year community college.”
“South Mountain.”
Charles searched his memory.
Nothing.
Malcolm smiled without warmth.
“I’m not offended you don't remember.”
Charles looked embarrassed anyway.
“What happened?”
Malcolm put the laptop into his bag.
“I got removed.”
Charles stared.
“From Pathways?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Angela stayed near the door.
Malcolm noticed.
“You can go.”
She looked at him.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She left.
Charles and Malcolm remained alone.
Malcolm sat again.
“I was assigned to the Phoenix maintenance facility.”
“My mother worked there.”
Charles frowned.
“Your mother?”
“Denise Hayes.”
The name hit harder.
Charles remembered her.
Not because he knew hundreds of mechanics personally.
Denise had been unusual.
One of the first Black women hired into aircraft maintenance at Whitaker.
Brilliant with electrical systems.
Blunt.
Too blunt, according to some supervisors.
Charles had signed a service award for her once.
“You’re Denise Hayes’s son.”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”