Chapter 8 - THE GRANDFATHER NAOMI NEVER KNEW
Naomi thought she had one grandfather.
Her father’s dad, who lived in Florida and sent terrible birthday sweaters.
Apparently she had another.
Or had.
“Mom’s father?”
Ethan nodded.
“Rachel stopped speaking to him before you were born.”
“Why?”
“He ran AeroDyne.”
Naomi stared at the documents.
Her mother had been fighting her own father’s company.
Suddenly the story felt different.
Bigger.
Crueler.
“Did Grandpa know the part was dangerous?”
Susan Keller answered carefully.
“The signature shows he approved canceling the grounding bulletin.”
“That means yes?”
“It means he approved a decision. We still need to know what information he saw.”
Naomi looked at Ethan.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Rachel didn’t want his name controlling your memory of her.”
That made sense.
It also hurt.
Jonathan Mercer had died two years after the crash.
Official cause: stroke.
He had never contacted Naomi.
Or so she thought.
Daniel Cross quietly said:
“He tried.”
Ethan turned.
“What?”
“Jonathan sent letters.”
Naomi’s father stared.
“I never received them.”
“He sent them to Rachel’s old attorney.”
Susan immediately searched the archive inventory.
Three unopened envelopes were listed.
All addressed to Naomi Reynolds.
Naomi’s throat tightened.
“Where are they?”
“Federal storage.”
“Can I have them?”
Susan looked at Ethan.
Ethan looked at Naomi.
“Yes.”
The letters arrived electronically first as scanned copies.
Naomi read the earliest.
Dear Naomi,
You do not know me.
That is my fault.
Your mother believed I chose my company over what was right.
For many years, she was correct.
Naomi stopped.
The second letter was harder.
Jonathan wrote that Rachel had confronted him personally about the overheating unit.
He had been told the failure probability was one in several million.
He trusted Hale and Pierce.
He approved canceling the grounding order.
Then Flight 417 happened.
I signed a piece of paper because I wanted to believe the people around me who said delay would cost too much.
Your mother wanted me to ask what failure would cost if the number was wrong.
I did not listen.
Naomi’s eyes filled.
He had not caused the fire intentionally.
He had made the kind of decision adults often called reasonable before something terrible proved otherwise.
Then she opened the third letter.
This one had been written shortly before Jonathan died.
Inside was a confession.
After the crash, Hale and Pierce asked Jonathan to approve a legal strategy blaming an undeclared passenger battery.
Jonathan agreed publicly.
Privately, he ordered an independent laboratory to retest Rachel’s unit.
The results proved Rachel had been right.
“What happened to the results?” Ethan asked.
Naomi continued reading.
Jonathan hid them.
Not destroyed.
Hidden.
Because by then exposing the truth would have destroyed AeroDyne, cost thousands of jobs, and possibly sent executives—including himself—to prison.
Naomi whispered:
“He was scared.”
Ethan nodded.
Like many adults in this story.
Then she reached the last paragraph.
Before my death, I placed the original test results and a notarized statement in a trust controlled by a person who owes nothing to AeroDyne.
When Naomi Reynolds turns twelve, the trust transfers to her.
Naomi looked up.
“I’m eleven.”
Susan checked the date.
Naomi’s twelfth birthday was in three weeks.
Then the final sentence made everyone go still.
If the truth is needed before then, there is one person authorized to open the trust early.
May you like
Naomi read the name.
“Preston Hale.”
