Chapter 4 - THE MAN THEODORE CHOSE TO BELIEVE INSTEAD OF HIS SON
Preston was suspended from Titan by noon.
Not fired.
Theodore did not own Titan outright.
His family investment office owned thirty-two percent.
Enough to force an emergency board meeting.
Enough to insist Preston step away during an independent audit.
Not enough to pronounce guilt from a service bay.
Theodore had lawyers who reminded him of that every fifteen minutes.
He hated lawyers for almost an entire afternoon.
Then remembered he paid them to stop him from becoming stupid when angry.
Victoria Hale took temporary control of the Bellarossa inspection.
No Titan-sourced replacements.
Every current component photographed and tagged.
Serials recorded.
Authenticity reviewed independently.
Derek Sullivan requested counsel from Titan’s board.
He looked terrified.
Not necessarily guilty.
Theodore tried to remember the distinction.
Raymond returned from school to find his mother sitting at the apartment kitchen table.
No uniform.
No work.
“You’re not going back?”
“Preston fired me.”
“He’s suspended.”
“Still fired me first.”
“Can they do that?”
“Adults can do many things before a lawyer tells them they shouldn’t.”
A knock came.
Beatrice sighed.
“If that’s another billionaire—”
It was Theodore.
She almost closed the door.
“Ms. Nelson.”
“I’m not interested in money.”
“I know.”
“Job?”
“Titan’s board has offered reinstatement pending review.”
“I know.”
“You declined.”
“Yes.”
Theodore nodded.
“I wanted to apologize in person.”
“You already apologized.”
“Not correctly.”
Beatrice folded her arms.
Raymond watched from the table.
Theodore continued:
“I watched Preston humiliate your son because part of me was too focused on my car to recognize what was happening to a person standing next to it.”
Beatrice said nothing.
“He should not have put his hands on Raymond.”
“No.”
“He should not have threatened your job because you objected.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
Beatrice studied him.
“Thank you.”
No forgiveness performance.
Good.
Theodore looked at Raymond.
“May I ask you something?”
Raymond looked at his mother.
She nodded.
“You know Daniel’s notebook?”
Raymond frowned.
“Giuseppe’s brown one?”
Theodore’s face changed.
“Brown?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Giuseppe tell you whose it was?”
“No.”
“What did you think?”
“His.”
Theodore sat at the edge of a chair.
“What did he teach you from it?”
Raymond thought.
“Heat diagnostics.”
“What else?”
“Pressure before replacement. Voltage drop. Checking old grounds under load. Not assuming new parts are good.”
Theodore swallowed.
Those were Daniel’s phrases.
He knew because Daniel had once spent an entire Thanksgiving explaining voltage drop to everyone at the table while Theodore’s late father pretended to understand.
Raymond continued:
“Giuseppe says parts boxes lie.”
Theodore almost smiled.
“Daniel said that.”
Raymond’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Raymond asked:
“Was he good?”
Theodore looked down.
“At cars?”
“Yeah.”
“Very.”
“Better than Preston?”
Theodore almost laughed.
“I’m beginning to think he may have been.”
Raymond smiled.
Then his mother said:
“Homework.”
“Mom.”
“Do billionaires cancel homework?”
Theodore said:
“Unfortunately no.”
Raymond went to his room.
Beatrice waited.
“What do you really want?”
Theodore looked toward the closed bedroom door.
“Giuseppe says Daniel’s notebook is part of why Raymond recognized the fault.”
“Yes.”
“I want to make sure nobody turns that into a story about my son saving the car through a child.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow.
“That is surprisingly sane.”
“The truth is Raymond listened.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel’s notes gave him vocabulary.”
“Yes.”
“Giuseppe gave him training.”
“Yes.”
“And your son did the actual noticing.”
She stared at him.
“Good.”
Theodore nodded.
“I have spent enough years turning people into simpler stories because simplicity made my decisions easier.”
Beatrice’s face softened slightly.
Not much.
He left.
At Titan, Victoria found three more questionable parts.
A distributor housing invoiced as authenticated 1960s new-old-stock.
Modern reproduction.
Two hose clamps billed as restored originals.
Modern.
A voltage regulator authentic.
A fuel pump authentic.
Not everything fake.
That mattered.
The fraud, if fraud existed, was selective.
Harder to notice.
More profitable.
Then she found a missing component.
The Bellarossa’s original mechanical fuel-pressure regulator.
Invoice from ten months earlier:
Removed as defective.
Returned to owner.
Theodore had never received it.
Titan’s paperwork showed signature:
Daniel Harrington.
Victoria stared.
May you like
Daniel had been dead more than three years on the date of return.
Someone had used the dead son’s name to document where an original part disappeared.
Related Stories
