Then Ronan did.
"Making it harder for them to pretend this is normal."
Caleb looked around.
Thirty-seven people.
Not all nine-year veterans.
Not all mechanics.
Some had worked there fifteen years.
Some less than twelve months.
Aircraft maintenance technicians.
Avionics specialists.
Dispatch personnel.
Line-service employees.
Parts clerks.
Ground crew.
Two customer-service representatives.
One night-shift supervisor who had arrived early and had not even clocked in yet.
They began moving toward the exit.
Caleb shook his head.
"Guys, seriously."
Ronan opened the door.
Cold December air rushed inside.
"We know."
The first people stepped out.
Caleb followed because he no longer knew what else to do.
Behind them, more workers came.
The door had barely closed when another one slammed open.
Graham Voss appeared.
He had been Northstar Executive Aviation's operations director for seventy-six days.
Caleb knew because people had started counting on the second week.
Graham was forty-five, always impeccably dressed, always carrying a tablet, and always moving as though a meeting somewhere was already waiting for him. He had come from the corporate logistics side of aviation rather than from maintenance. His résumé was full of words like optimization, throughput, margin improvement, scheduling efficiency, and asset utilization.
None of those words made him incompetent.
They had simply made him dangerous when he began treating aircraft maintenance as if it were another production line.
Graham hurried outside without a coat.
"What is going on?"
Nobody answered.
His eyes went first to Ronan.
"Pierce."
Ronan turned.
"Everyone back inside."
No movement.
Graham's face reddened.
"You cannot abandon active operations."
Maya spoke.
"Everything in our bays was made safe before we clocked out."
"That isn't the point."
"It should always be the point," she replied.
Graham ignored her.
"This is an unauthorized walkout."
Ronan folded his arms.
"I went home early."
"Thirty-seven people do not spontaneously go home early."
Luis said, "Apparently they do today."
Graham looked at Caleb.
The expression on his face made the accusation clear even before he spoke.
"You organized this?"
Caleb almost laughed.
He still had the cardboard box in his arms.
A glitter-covered airplane ornament stuck out from beneath one flap.
"I didn't organize anything."
"Then tell them to return to work."
Caleb stared.
"They don't work for me."
"You know exactly what you're doing."
Ronan moved one step forward.
"No, Graham. You know exactly what you did."
Graham's jaw tightened.
"This is a personnel matter."
"Then why are you asking the person you fired to manage your personnel?"
That landed.
Several people looked away to hide smiles.
Graham did not.
"You are all putting your employment at risk."
The sentence floated through the freezing air.
Caleb looked at Owen.
The younger man's face had gone pale.
Caleb knew Owen and his wife had a newborn son.
He knew Tessa was caring for an elderly father.
He knew Luis had three children.
He knew Janelle had recently signed papers on a small townhouse.
This was not symbolic to them.
They had bills.
Insurance.
Families.
Christmas gifts already purchased.
Rent due.
Caleb felt panic.
"Everyone stop."
They looked at him.
He put the box on the hood of his old pickup truck.
"Listen to me."
His voice shook.
He hated that.
He tried again.
"Nobody loses a job for me."
Ronan started to speak.
Caleb raised a hand.
"No."