Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
But then she was tucked away, and my time for self-indulgence was over.
Theo checked a text message after we got the hangar doors shut. “Jeanine is here.”
“Go,” I told him. “You have a whole house to unpack.”
“Maria should be here with your truck in”—he checked his watch—“half an hour or so. You going to be okay?”
“Absolutely.” Maria and Theo had bigger things to worry about than me.
He gave me a nod and took off through the side door of the building, leaving me alone in the hangar.
It was small but well-sized for what we needed. Packed correctly, we could probably fit another bird in here. Equipment lined one side of the building, and there were two walled-off offices along the other, both sporting windows into the hangar.
I could see the desks in one of them, where we would set up bookings and take care of the business end of the operation, and the other was empty except for the stack of plastic chairs that looked like they’d been taken straight out of the church basement. It was a good area to brief the skiers.
“It’s set up exactly how you asked,” a familiar voice said from behind me.
My jaw flexed with recognition. I should have locked the damn doors.
“It’s great,” I said, turning toward the helicopter instead of my brother. “Did you get all the equipment Ramos asked you for?”
“It’s here.” Reed walked over and stood at my side.
He had an inch on me, but what I lacked in height I more than made up for in muscle. He’d spent his years in boardrooms, and I’d spent mine in the gym or flying. We had the same dark hair and eyes, the same chin, and definitely got our dad’s ears, but that’s where the resemblance stopped.
“You look good,” Reed said, giving me a once-over.
“Thanks. War was great for my complexion. You look…” I spared a glance over his slacks and Patagonia vest to his perfectly coiffed hair. “Polished.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It’s not.” I shrugged.
Reed scoffed. “I left the share agreement on your desk. You know, the one that gives you an increased stake for every year you’re at Madigan.”
I grunted. I wasn’t here for the shares and we both knew it.
He tilted his head in examination as he stared at the helicopter. “I thought you’d go with something more like what they’re using in Telluride. The Eurocopter—”
“Has a five-passenger limit and one engine for over two million,” I countered. “This triples that capacity with two engines at just under three million. And you signed off on it, remember?” The thrum of a familiar engine filled the hangar from outside. Maria had made it.
“I did.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Still, the hourly costs—”
I muttered a curse. “Am I talking to my brother or my business partner?”
His head snapped in my direction. “Will you talk to your brother? Because the only communications I’ve had with you for the last decade have been family business and this helicopter.”
I ignored the jab. “This is a Bell 212 HP-BLR. It’s been structurally overhauled and rewired within the last year, and yes, that’s fresh paint. It has less than ten thousand hours on the body and comes complete with gear cage”—I pointed to the long wire basket along the fuselage—“and rescue hoist.” I gestured toward the lift. “It has seating capacity for fourteen, and did I mention a second engine just in case that first one goes out?”
Reed rolled his eyes. “Weston—”
“Now the Eurocopter does have an operating cost that’s down around $875 an hour, and the Bell is going to take that up to $1,508, but even if we operate only at the Eurocopter’s capacity, we’re still going to profit about three grand a day.”
Reed opened his mouth, and I ran him over.
“Now, the Eurocopter is going to profit about $4,600 a day as long as they only book at five people. But the second they go to six, they have to take a second helicopter, and they won’t just book it for that one. They have a minimum of three. So let’s go with eight, just for fun.” I crossed my arms in front of me. “So, for eight people, our profit is seven grand a day and theirs is—wait for it—$6,300 a day because they have to eat the hourly costs for the second helicopter, and that’s before the cost of an additional pilot. We don’t have that issue. Every person over three is profit for us, and we can take parties of four or five. They won’t. You’re not the only one in the family who can do math. Oh, and did you hear the part about the second engine? Trust me, you’d care if you were the one flying it.”
Reed took a measured breath. “Damn, Weston, I wasn’t saying you made a bad choice.”