Chapter 5
I stared at the photograph until my fingers went numb.
My father's shop.
The building where I learned to hold a wrench.
The place where he taught me that honesty mattered more than money.
Someone had vandalized it.
And someone wanted me to know.
I immediately called Angela.
She answered on the first ring.
"Cedric?"
"They sent me a threat."
Her voice sharpened.
"What kind?"
I forwarded the messages.
She read them while I waited.
Then she spoke.
"Do not go there alone."
My stomach tightened.
"That shop belonged to my father."
"I understand. But this is now a safety issue. Call the police, preserve the messages, and let them investigate."
I wanted to argue.
Every instinct in my body told me to drive straight there.
Instead, I called the police.
An officer took my report and arranged to meet me at the building.
By the time I arrived, two patrol cars were parked outside.
The windows really were broken.
Red paint covered the old sign.
SAMUEL WALLS AUTO REPAIR.
I stood on the sidewalk, staring at my father's name.
Then I noticed something.
The building's new owner, Mr. Franklin, was standing near the entrance.
He was an older man with silver hair and tired eyes.
When he saw me, he shook his head.
"Cedric, I'm sorry."
I swallowed.
"I didn't know they would come here."
He waved away my apology.
"This isn't your fault."
I helped the officer review the damage.
There was security footage from a business across the street.
Two men wearing hooded sweatshirts had arrived after midnight.
One carried a spray can.
The other smashed the windows.
Their faces weren't clear.
But the vehicle was.
A dark gray SUV.
I remembered Xavier driving a similar one.
I gave the information to the officer.
He wrote it down without making promises.
"We'll follow up," he said.
After they left, Mr. Franklin invited me inside.
I hesitated.
I hadn't entered the building since selling it.
The moment I crossed the threshold, the smell hit me.
Oil.
Metal.
Dust.
Home.
I looked toward the back wall.
My father's workbench was gone.
Only faint marks remained where the shelves had hung.
I felt tears forming.
Mr. Franklin stood quietly beside me.
"Your dad was a good man."
I nodded.
"He was."
"He helped me when I couldn't afford to repair my delivery van."
I remembered.
Mr. Franklin had owned a small grocery service back then.
My father fixed his van for almost nothing.
"He said a man shouldn't lose his livelihood because of one broken transmission," Mr. Franklin continued.
I smiled through my tears.
"That sounds like him."
The older man studied me.
"I heard about your invention."
I looked up.
"How?"
"Dr. Bennett called. He wanted to know whether you still had access to your father's old testing records."
My heart jumped.
"Testing records?"
Mr. Franklin nodded.
"He said you might need them."
I suddenly remembered something.
Before my father died, he had helped me test the first version of my braking system.
We used an old delivery truck.
He kept handwritten notes in a thick green notebook.
I thought those records had been lost during the sale.
"Do you know where they are?"
Mr. Franklin pointed toward a storage cabinet.
"I saved a few boxes that were left behind. Couldn't bring myself to throw them out."
He opened the cabinet.
There were three dusty cardboard boxes.
Inside the second, beneath old service manuals, I found it.
The green notebook.
My father's handwriting covered the pages.
Dates.
Measurements.
Brake temperatures.
Failure conditions.
And comments in the margins.
I opened to the first page.
My father's words stared back at me.
CEDRIC'S SAFETY SYSTEM — FIRST TEST SERIES.
I sat down.
The notebook shook in my hands.
Mr. Franklin gently stepped away.
I turned another page.
There was a note near the bottom.
"Son, don't stop working on this. You might save lives we will never meet."
I pressed the notebook against my chest.
For the first time since graduation, I cried without trying to hide it.
Not because Naomi had betrayed me.
But because my father had believed in me before anyone else.
When I returned to Angela's office, she examined the notebook carefully.
"This is extremely valuable evidence," she said.
I nodded.
"It proves I was developing the system before Naomi had anything to do with it."
"It certainly strengthens that timeline."
She arranged for a forensic document specialist to examine the disputed agreement.
Meanwhile, Meridian agreed to pause acquisition negotiations rather than withdraw.
I expected relief.
Instead, I received another surprise.
Angela called me two days later.
"Cedric, I need you to sit down."
I was in my rented garage.
"What's wrong?"
"Meridian completed a preliminary technical evaluation."
I held my breath.
"And?"
"They're increasing their proposed upfront payment."
"To what?"
"Eighteen million dollars."
I dropped my wrench.
It hit the concrete floor with a loud clang.
"Eighteen?"
"Yes. But we still need to negotiate terms."
I sank onto a stool.
Angela continued.
"They also want you to lead the development program for at least three years."
"Lead it?"
"Yes."
I almost laughed.
"Angela, I didn't finish college."
"That doesn't change who designed the system."
I stared at my oil-stained hands.
For years, Naomi had made me feel ashamed of them.
Now a major corporation wanted those same hands guiding its engineering team.
I whispered, "My father would never believe this."
Angela laughed softly.
"From everything you've told me, I think he'd believe it completely."
That evening, I visited my father's grave.
I carried the green notebook.
I sat beside the headstone.
"Dad," I whispered, "you were right."
The cemetery was quiet.
I told him about the invention.
The offer.
The company.
Then I told him about Naomi.
I didn't try to sound strong.
"I really thought she loved me."
My voice broke.
"I gave her everything."
A gentle breeze moved through the trees.
I looked down.
"But I'm not going to lose what you taught me."
I sat there until sunset.
When I finally returned to my truck, I found three missed calls.
All from Patricia Brooks.
Then a voicemail.
I almost deleted it.
Something made me listen.
"Cedric, this is Patricia. I know we haven't always gotten along."
Her voice sounded strained.
"I need to speak with you. Not about the money."
A pause.
Then she whispered something unexpected.
"Please don't tell Naomi I called."
I frowned.
The message continued.
"There's something you need to know about Xavier Coleman."
I stood beside my truck, listening carefully.
Patricia's next words made my blood run cold.
"He's been using my daughter. And I think she's finally realizing it."
Then the recording ended.
I called Patricia immediately.
She didn't answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Ten minutes later, she sent a message.
COME TO MY HOUSE TOMORROW AT EIGHT.
COME ALONE.
I stared at the screen.
For seven years, Patricia had treated me like I was beneath her.
Now she wanted my help.
I didn't know whether to trust her.
But the next morning, I drove to her house.
Her car was in the driveway.
The curtains were closed.
I knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again.
"Mrs. Brooks?"
Silence.
Then I heard something fall inside.
A crash.
Followed by a frightened voice.
"Please!"
It was Patricia.
I reached for my phone.
Then I heard a man's voice through the door.
A voice I recognized.
May you like
Xavier Coleman.
"You should've kept your mouth shut."
