“Legal?”
“Notify them now.”
“Compliance?”
“Yes.”
“Preserve every relevant log.”
“Yes.”
Kenji was silent again.
Then he asked the most important question.
“Is this about what happened to you, Alex?”
Alexander looked at the seatback in front of him.
“Partly.”
“That worries me.”
“It should.”
Alexander appreciated him for saying it.
Kenji had been with him too long to confuse loyalty with obedience.
Alexander continued.
“If legal believes the contract does not support the hold, they stop it.”
“And if it does?”
“Then activate it.”
Kenji exhaled.
“All right.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“No publicity.”
“Understood.”
“No one touches safety-critical operations.”
“I know.”
Alexander’s voice softened slightly.
“I needed to say it.”
“I know that too.”
The call ended.
Alexander sat back.
The cabin door closed.
The aircraft pushed away from the gate.
For the next several minutes, he watched rain streak across the window beyond the passenger beside him.
There was no satisfaction.
That surprised him.
He had expected anger to feel powerful once acted upon.
Instead, he felt weight.
Because consequences in large systems rarely landed only on the people who caused the problem.
They traveled.
Employees.
Passengers.
Families.