Chapter 111 Negotiable
CHAPTER 111
Negotiable.
ROMAN – POINT OF VIEW
The whole building is on lockdown. No one is allowed to leave, go or come.
We get started on the Junior Operations Manager, who finally breaks past noon. No one was protecting him, and he knows all he can do is control the extent of the damage. The longer he holds out, the more dangerous it will be for him. He knows he has been caught, and he can help us end this faster, or draw it out, which will end with him in jail.
I do not threaten termination or prison. He knows this already. Instead, I rotate the tablet across the glass conference table and let the security footage play in silence. It shows unauthorised badge access in Hangar 8 at 2 a.m and fourteen minutes later, the amended fuel variances report was uploaded into the operations database, time-stamped, traceable and permanent.
“I … I didn’t steal anything,” he stammers, sweat beading on his forehead.
I keep my voice levelled, “You altered fuel reconciliation statements, deferred maintenance reserve allocations and approved component write-offs without corresponding inventory depletion. It is a misappropriation of corporate assets. The only variable left is scope.
The tension thickens. I should be home with Scarlett, not here.
“I won’t ask you again. Speak now, or I drag the words out of you.” I warn coldly.
Damian shifts in his seat, and I inhale sharply. I hear him even in silence. I need to choose my words carefully so they won’t be used against me.
“It isn’t random,” he confesses, “The instructions were precise. Encrypted emails are routed through rotating proxy servers. Micro-deposits to an offshore fintech wallet in exchange for specific manipulations such as delaying certain aircraft, flagging selected jets for unscheduled inspections, deferring component overhauls to inflate short-term margins, and rebalancing maintenance reserve funds to mask liquidity drains.”
“Which aircraft?” I ask quietly as my rage simmers in me. I might as well be a volcano about to erupt.
“Executive charter units, long-haul fleets and the Gulfstreams reserved for Tier-one clients.” He confesses, pulling the ground from under my feet. His answer has shifted the room’s gravity. Murmurs spread out. Caleb looks furious, and even Damian, who is always calm.
Well, fuck.
The aircraft I use. The one Scarlett uses, Damian, Elena, Caleb, Luca, all our topclients. High-value political passengers. The siphoning is spread across the fleet. It is concentrated where visibility and vulnerability intersect. We were monitored and controlled.
“And, you were not alone.” Damian sighs. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and the manager’s silence confirmed it.
There were finance sign-offs, procurement authorisations, and quality assurance overrides. A chain of custody long enough to hide the architect behind layers of compliance theatre.
The legal team escorted the manager out, and I am left thinking far beyond the embezzlement, but the pattern recognition.
We keep working, desperately trying to find the core.
An hour later, the second crack appears.
Elena forwards an email from one of Sterlng Aviation’s most lucrative charter clients. The wording is immaculate, corporate, neutral and almost courteous. They are ‘temporarily suspending flight activity pending clarification of internal governance matters’ It was clear, calm, no accusations, no hostility, just distance.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Drafted by attorneys. Someone has seeded doubt into their risk assessment framework. Do you think this is Dante? Payback for the much-needed beating he got?” Damian mutters a curse.
I have no answer. I am wound tight and about to explode. Hesitation in the aviation business translates to revenue contraction, which translates to share-price vulnerability, which invites acquisition predators. This isn’t Dante. He doesn’t have the balls for this.
Noone is leaving until we get to the bottom of this.
An hour later, the fucking regulatory notice arrives. An inquiry requesting maintenance documentation, compliance certifications, audit trails for deferred component overhauls and procurement approval matrices over the last quarter. Someone has filed a whistleblower complaint.
I’m so close to losing my mind, but my determination is made of steel.
After adequate research, Caleb reveals, “The filing timestamp was two weeks ago.”
My brain screeches to a halt. Two weeks ago was before the Dante scandal, before the press cycle and public volatility. This isn’t reactive opportunism; it is premeditated destabilisation.
I moved to the wall of monitors and began cross-referencing again, internal predictive analytics against operational logs. Sterling AI’s risk model lights up like constellations. Fleet utilisation discrepancies align with the manipulated maintenance reserves. Fuel hedging positions show mismatched derivatives that artificially inflate quarterly P&L performance before reversing into controlled losses. Deferred overhaul costs are strategically buried in long-term liabilities to avoid triggering lender covenants. Even I have to admit that it’s elegant.
Caleb lays printed models across the desk, “The financial bleed isn’t uniform. It targets specific aircraft IDs.”
We scan them. They are all tied to executive routing schedules. Everything clicks.
Damian whistles in shock, “They are not stealing money. They’re controlling availability.”
Fuel variances triggered unscheduled inspections, which forced route changes that create predictable movement windows that allow tracking.
My chest caves in when I rrealiseScarlett’s recent travel logs are on the list.
I collapse on the chair, covering my face with my hands. Someone is watching us, watching her. They want to take her from me. I’ll rather die than allow that.
I get my hands on ownership disclosures on the subcontracted maintenance firm responsible for the deferred components.
Caleb and I follow the financial threads down the chain. Soon, I find what we are looking for. A minority capital injection route through a private equity vehicle connected to … Emiliano.
“At least we have our answer now.” Damian scoffs dryly.
“That fucking bastard.” I seethe, heat flushing through me, “I am going to kill him.”
The bastard didn’t attack us directly. He found our pressure points and fucked with them.
Eventually, we all retire for the day. I am haunted, angry, and trembling.
Somehow, everything seeps away when I find Scarlett asleep on the couch. She fell asleep waiting for me.
I sigh deeply and run my fingers through her beautiful hair.
I frown when I see dark hair peeking from her roots.
My phone beeps, and I stiffen. A message meant for Scarlett. I should have disconnected the bond, but I just couldn’t.
I expect to see a message from Dante, as always.
Instead, I find a message from an unknown number – You fly too often for someone with your past.
The air shifts and everything collapses inward. This was never about business. It is about Scarlett.
Here’s the thing - business is negotiable. Scarlett is not.