Near the end of the call, Darius returned to the question that mattered most. "I don't just want the biggest deal," he said. "I need to know whether my people can do their jobs inside your operations without wondering whether an unsupported suspicion will be treated as more important than their credentials or their work. I need to know that if they challenge a bad instruction, somebody will listen before the situation becomes a confrontation."
Blanchard did not answer immediately. Then he said, "I can't promise nobody will make a bad judgment. I can promise we will be accountable for how we handle it, and I will accept independent proof of whether that promise means anything."
Darius told him the company would examine the proposal seriously. He did not offer a signature, a press conference, or an easy path through diligence. He said his team would evaluate Ameris under the same standards it had applied to Caliber and would expect formal answers quickly because their own development schedule could not remain indefinitely suspended. Blanchard agreed, then asked whether Darius wanted to discuss a public statement. Darius said he wanted to discuss the contract first.
When the call ended, Darius found a message from his mother. Bernice had seen a news item about the flight and wanted to know whether he was all right. She did not ask for a headline or the name of the woman who had made the complaint. She asked whether he had eaten, whether he was sleeping, and whether he was prepared for what happened when private pain became public argument. Darius called her before the next meeting invitation could distract him.
Bernice was seventy-two and still spoke with the clear authority of someone who had spent a career asking children to return books on time. She listened to the story and asked whether he remembered the first time a teacher assumed a computer project could not be his. Darius did. He had been thirteen, and the teacher had praised the program before asking which adult had written it. His mother had gone to the school, not to demand praise for her son, but to ask why the work was treated as suspicious only when the boy who made it was identified.
"You were furious afterward," she reminded him. "You thought I should have made the principal apologize in front of everybody." Darius smiled despite himself. "I remember," he said.
"And you told me that a public apology wouldn't teach the teacher how to check her own assumptions." Bernice gave a quiet sound of approval. "I told you to bring your work and make her explain the evidence," she replied. "I'm not telling you not to be angry now. I'm telling you not to let anger make the work smaller."
They talked about Ellis, who had been spending his retirement repairing an old motorcycle with more enthusiasm than the project probably deserved. Bernice said he was angry on Darius's behalf but refusing to say much because he knew how easily the conversation could reopen memories he had never fully shared. Darius promised to call him after the negotiations. His mother said she would hold him to it. Then she reminded him that people might praise his courage only because he had the resources to refuse what others could not afford to reject.