Dr. Sutter filed her independent evaluation report the next morning. She didn't soften it. She didn't dress it up in diplomatic language. She wrote it the way she'd written NASA reports for 30 years: clear, direct, and impossible to argue with.
Root cause: a maintenance error. One undertorqued bracket bolt that triggered a cascading failure across the crossfeed valve system, leading to O-ring degradation, fuel contamination, and symmetrical engine shutdown. Fifty mechanics missed it because they followed standard protocol; standard protocol treats each engine independently. The fault existed in the space between both engines, a space no checklist told them to look.
Then she wrote the part that mattered most: Faith Brooks demonstrated diagnostic methodology that surpassed every credentialed team assigned to this aircraft. Her use of auditory, olfactory, and tactile observation identified a failure chain that $8 million in instrument-based diagnostics could not detect.
Dr. Sutter formally recommended that Faith be offered a permanent position in the Caldwell Aerospace Diagnostic Engineering Division—immediately, no probation period, no conditional terms.
Preston read the report in his office with the door closed. He read it twice.
That afternoon, he sat across from Faith in a conference room. Dr. Sutter was present as a witness, so was Neil. Preston offered Faith a full-time position. The title: Diagnostic Systems Specialist. Dr. Sutter had insisted on that title—not technician, not assistant: Specialist.
But Dr. Sutter wasn't finished. She offered to personally sponsor Faith for the FAA Airframe and Powerplant Certification Program: the A&P license, the credential that would give Faith official standing in the industry, the piece of paper that matched what her hands already knew.
Faith sat quietly for a moment, then she accepted, on one condition: she wanted to build a mentorship program, a workshop for kids from disadvantaged backgrounds who had talent but no access—kids like she had been, kids who could fix anything but couldn't get through the door.
Preston agreed without negotiation; he was in no position to say no to anything.
That evening, Faith walked into her new workspace for the first time. It had a door, a nameplate—her name: Faith Brooks, Diagnostic Systems Specialist, printed in clean black letters. She set her grandfather's canvas tool roll on the shelf beside it. Elton would have liked that shelf.