That morning, I didn’t answer.

Instead, I looked toward the jet.

Its polished fuselage reflected the terminal windows.

The gold emblem beside the doorway was too small to see from the lounge, but I remembered its shape.

My father’s aviation certificate hung above a cabinet filled with old corporate records.

As a child, I’d assumed the certificate commemorated one of his business achievements.

Now I wondered whether it represented something more practical.

My phone vibrated again.