"How do you know?"
Avery held up the notebook. "My father's original design notes. He wrote everything by hand. Every specification, every tolerance, every firing sequence. He taught me how to read them before I could drive a car."
Hayes took a step closer. He looked at the notebook. Its cover was worn soft from years of handling. Oil stains darkened the edges. Pages were tabbed with small strips of electrical tape in different colors.
"Can you prove it?" Hayes asked. "Right now, on that engine?"
Grant stepped forward. "Commander, I cannot allow an unqualified civilian to touch government contract equipment. If something goes wrong, the liability alone..."
"Mr. Whitmore," Hayes said without turning around, "your team has had three months with this engine. You told me last week it was hopeless. You recommended we cancel the contract. Is that correct?"
"The situation is complex, sir. The metallurgical analysis..."
"Yes or no. Did you tell me it was hopeless?"
Grant swallowed. "Yes, sir."
"Then what exactly do you have to lose by letting her try?"
No answer.
Derek looked at the floor. The engineers behind them shifted on their feet.
Hayes turned back to Avery. "Here's what I'm proposing. You get one hour with that engine, right here, in front of everyone. You show me what you found. If you're right, you get the chance to fix it. If you're wrong, you walk out and we never discuss this again."
"And if I'm right?" Avery asked.
Hayes glanced at Grant. "Then we'll have a very different conversation about how this project has been managed."
Grant's face drained of color. Not because he feared Avery was wrong. Because somewhere behind the arrogance and the stolen blueprints and the 15 years of pretending, Grant Whitmore knew there was a real possibility she was right.
And if she was right about the engine, the next question would be how he had failed to see what a 22-year-old with no degree saw in four hours.
Derek leaned toward Grant and whispered, "She can't possibly know what she's talking about. Let her embarrass herself."
Grant nodded slowly. "Fine. Let her play with the scrap metal."
He said it loud enough for the bay to hear. A few engineers laughed, but the laughter was thinner now, uncertain.
Avery looked at Commander Hayes. She looked at the Titan. She opened her father's notebook to the first tabbed page.
The page had a diagram of the fuel rail assembly drawn in Earl's careful hand. Every line precise, every measurement labeled. In the bottom corner, a note in small letters read: For Avery, in case they ever need to listen.
She had never seen that note before.
Her father must have written it years ago, maybe the day he knew he would not live to fix the Titan himself.