Chapter 2 - THE CHEAP PART INSIDE THE TWO-MILLION-DOLLAR RESTORATION
Preston answered exactly the way expensive people answer when a simple question becomes dangerous.
“We need context.”
Theodore stared at him.
“I asked for a supplier.”
“There are multiple subcontractors involved in heritage fabrication.”
“Name.”
Preston’s jaw flexed.
“Cavalieri Heritage Components.”
Victoria’s eyes shifted.
“Modena?”
“Phoenix office.”
“There is no Phoenix Cavalieri office.”
Preston looked at her.
“They use a domestic logistics partner.”
Derek said quietly:
“I thought it came directly from Italy.”
Preston turned.
“No one asked you.”
That was a mistake.
Everybody noticed.
Theodore did not raise his voice.
“Shut the car down.”
Victoria nodded.
“Preserve the line.”
Preston stepped forward.
“Ted.”
“No.”
“You’re reacting to one component.”
“I paid your company to authenticate every component.”
“We did.”
“Apparently not.”
Theodore looked toward Raymond.
The boy stood beside his mother.
Broom still against the wall.
“The child you humiliated diagnosed the defect faster than your entire operation.”
Preston’s face hardened.
“That has nothing to do with provenance.”
“No.”
Theodore looked at the hose.
“This does.”
Beatrice touched Raymond’s shoulder.
“Come on.”
Preston turned toward her.
“Your shift isn’t finished.”
Beatrice stopped.
Theodore looked at him.
Preston immediately realized he had exposed the hierarchy too plainly.
Beatrice said:
“My son needs to leave.”
“You leave now, I’ll record an incomplete shift.”
Raymond’s face changed.
“Mom.”
She squeezed his shoulder.
“It’s okay.”
Theodore’s voice stayed calm.
“Ms. Nelson.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“What is your hourly rate?”
Preston stepped forward.
“That is not relevant.”
Theodore ignored him.
Beatrice hesitated.
“Twenty-one fifty.”
“How many hours remain?”
“Two.”
Theodore took out his phone.
“I will pay Titan forty-three dollars if it is financially impossible for them to survive without you until closing.”
Beatrice’s face flushed.
“I don’t want—”
“I’m not offering you money.”
He looked at Preston.
“I’m illustrating how small he is being.”
Nobody laughed.
Preston did not either.
Beatrice gathered her things.
Then Preston said:
“If you walk out, don’t return tomorrow.”
Raymond froze.
Beatrice turned slowly.
“Are you firing me?”
“For abandoning a scheduled shift.”
“I’m leaving because you dragged my thirteen-year-old by his shirt.”
“I moved him away from a restricted vehicle.”
“You put your hand on him.”
Preston’s mouth tightened.
“Clock out.”
Beatrice stared at him.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Raymond whispered:
“Mom.”
She took his hand.
“No job gets to make you watch me beg.”
They walked toward the employee exit.
Theodore said:
“Ms. Nelson.”
She stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For standing here while that happened.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“Then don’t stand there next time.”
She left.
Theodore watched the door close.
Victoria said softly:
“I like her.”
Theodore did not answer.
His attention returned to the hose.
“Full audit.”
Preston laughed once.
“Ted.”
“Every invoice on this car for eighteen months.”
“You have all invoices.”
“No.”
Theodore looked at Victoria.
“I want every supplier purchase order, receiving record, part photograph, authentication certificate, removed-component disposition, technician time record, and subcontractor bill.”
Preston’s face changed.
“That is proprietary internal information.”
Theodore nodded.
“Then my lawyer can explain the discovery process.”
Silence.
Derek looked between them.
“I want my work sheets included.”
Preston turned sharply.
“You have no authority—”
“I installed that hose.”
Derek held up both hands.
“I want a record showing what I was handed.”
Theodore studied him.
“You didn’t source it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“Parts department.”
“Whose approval?”
Derek glanced at Preston.
Preston’s face hardened.
The answer existed without words.
Theodore called his attorney before leaving.
Raymond and Beatrice drove home in a fourteen-year-old Honda Civic with the check-engine light glowing.
Raymond sat silent until they reached the Loop 202.
“I’m sorry.”
Beatrice kept her eyes on traffic.
“For what?”
“Your job.”
“You didn’t fire me.”
“If I stayed in the break room—”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“Do not learn that lesson.”
He looked at her.
“What lesson?”
“That someone else being cruel means you caused what came after.”
Raymond looked out the window.
“I should have listened.”
“You should listen when I tell you something is dangerous.”
“I know.”
“And?”
He waited.
Beatrice sighed.
“And sometimes adults tell kids to stay quiet because we are afraid.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“Of Preston?”
“Of rent.”
That answer made more sense.
They drove another mile.
Then Raymond asked:
“Do we have rent?”
“For this month.”
“Next?”
“I’m an adult.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Beatrice almost laughed.
“You are thirteen.”
“That’s also not an answer.”
“Stop becoming me.”
He smiled.
A little.
At home, they ate frozen pizza.
At eight-thirty, somebody knocked.
Beatrice checked the peephole.
Victoria Hale stood outside.
No Theodore.
No lawyer.
Just Victoria holding a paper bag.
Beatrice opened.
“I brought the broom.”
Raymond laughed.
Victoria held up both hands.
“Kidding.”
She had groceries.
Beatrice’s expression changed.
“No.”
“Not charity.”
“Then what?”
“Giuseppe told me your son likes cannoli.”
Raymond stood.
“You called Giuseppe?”
Victoria looked at him.
“Immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t heard that name in fifteen years.”
Raymond’s eyes brightened.
“You know him?”
“I interned under him in Modena for six months when I was twenty-four.”
Beatrice looked between them.
“Of course you did.”
Victoria sat at the little kitchen table.
“Giuseppe wants to speak with you, Ray.”
“Why?”
“He asked what car.”
Raymond frowned.
“I didn’t tell him before.”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
Victoria’s face became serious.
“He knew Theodore Harrington’s Bellarossa.”
Raymond leaned forward.
“Worked on it?”
“Several times.”
“When?”
“Before Titan.”
“Did he know about the fuel line?”
Victoria hesitated.
“He said somebody had already diagnosed that fault.”
Raymond’s heartbeat changed.
“Who?”
Victoria looked toward Beatrice.
Then back at him.
“Theodore’s son.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
Raymond stared.
“But Daniel died.”
“Four years ago.”
“When did he diagnose it?”
Victoria’s expression tightened.
“Five years ago.”
The room became silent.
Exactly when Giuseppe had first shown Raymond the heat-collapse problem on an old roadster.
Raymond remembered the car.
Gray.
British.
Not the Bellarossa.
But Giuseppe had written dimensions in a notebook first.
Had made Raymond wait exactly seventeen minutes.
Raymond whispered:
“Did Giuseppe teach me Daniel’s test?”
Victoria nodded slowly.
“I think he did.”
Then she placed her phone on the table.
A photograph filled the screen.
Daniel Harrington.
Forty-ish.
Dark hair.
Work shirt.
Standing beside Giuseppe in a small garage.
Behind them:
May you like
The red Bellarossa.
And in Daniel’s hand was the same fuel line Titan later claimed nobody had ever suspected.
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