“Timeline?”
“Six hours if the alternate route is clean. Ten if it is not.”
He nodded. “That is why I came.”
For the next ninety minutes, the auditorium ceased to matter.
So did Richard.
I contacted the teams already in the network, challenged two estimates, redirected one shipment, and rejected a shortcut that would have saved time on paper while creating a single point of failure. The work was not glamorous. It was exactly what Richard had mocked: logistics.
The difference was scale, consequence, and trust.
By the time the first movement confirmation arrived, Vance leaned back in his chair.
“Route is holding.”
“For now.”
He smiled. “You always ruin the celebration too early.”
“What celebration?”
“The part where we say the problem is solved.”
“It is not solved until people have what they need.”
“That answer is why I drove across post with a folder in my coat.”
I closed the file.
“Is Richard still in the auditorium?”
Vance’s smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“Then I should finish that problem too.”
When we returned, the room had been released from the formal briefing but almost no one had left. Small groups stood between rows. Some pretended to discuss the schedule. Others were clearly waiting.
Richard remained near the podium with Yates.
Tyler had arrived.
My stepbrother wore civilian clothes and an expression of irritation, as though he had been summoned into a family inconvenience.
He looked at the red folder in my hand.
“What is that?”
“Not your concern.”
Richard stepped forward.
“I want an explanation.”
