Chapter 7
The Threat Behind the Wing
I forwarded the threatening message to Rebecca and our security manager.
Within minutes, the workshop's access controls were reviewed.
The security team preserved camera footage, visitor logs, and entry records.
Nobody was allowed into the engineering bay without authorization.
I wanted to believe the message was an empty threat.
But I had already made the mistake of underestimating the people around me.
I wasn't going to do it again.
Rebecca advised me to report the message to law enforcement.
I complied.
The investigator who took my statement asked whether I believed Ryan was responsible.
I hesitated.
"I don't know."
"Has he threatened you before?"
I described his words at the workshop.
You're going to regret fighting this.
The investigator wrote them down.
Then he asked whether anyone else had access to information about the next test.
I thought about our employees.
Our production partners.
The consultants involved in the security review.
The people who had worked beside us for years.
I hated the possibility that someone else might be involved.
But I answered honestly.
Several people knew the program's general schedule.
The exact testing details, however, had been restricted.
That afternoon, Marcus called an emergency staff meeting.
I stood in front of the engineering team and explained that someone had attempted unauthorized access to the prototype.
I did not accuse anyone.
I did not describe details that could compromise the investigation.
But I made one promise.
"Nobody's safety will be sacrificed to meet a launch date."
The room remained silent.
Then our suspension engineer, Angela Brooks, raised her hand.
"Does that mean the program is shutting down?"
I shook my head.
"No. It means we're going to finish the right way."
She nodded.
Marcus stepped forward.
"The Raven is more than one car. It's twenty years of experience and three years of concentrated development."
He looked around the room.
"We're not going to let anyone turn it into something dangerous."
Several employees began applauding.
I felt tears gathering in my eyes.
My father had built a team that believed in more than money.
And I was finally beginning to understand why that mattered.
Over the next week, investigators reviewed the threatening message and available security records.
They traced several suspicious access attempts to accounts associated with outside contractors.
One contractor had recently worked for a firm connected to Blackstone.
That connection alone did not establish responsibility.
But it gave the investigators another lead.
Rebecca continued coordinating with the relevant authorities.
Meanwhile, Olivia and I reviewed the Raven program's commercial strategy.
We had been preparing a limited production run.
The original plan involved building twelve initial vehicles for testing, certification development, and selected customers.
Ryan had dismissed the approach as too cautious.
But Olivia agreed with my father.
A machine this advanced required patience.
"Your father understood something many investors forget," she told me.
"What's that?"
"Trust is a product feature too."
I looked at her.
She smiled.
"If you sell people a machine that can reach extraordinary speeds, they need to know you value their lives more than their money."
I nodded.
That afternoon, I visited the design studio.
Several engineers were reviewing the Raven's aerodynamic surfaces.
On the wall hung my father's original sketch.
A low black silhouette.
A wide front splitter.
An enormous rear wing.
And a note written in red ink.
Fast enough to inspire. Safe enough to trust.
I stared at those words.
Then I took a photograph.
I wanted to remember them whenever commercial pressure threatened to overwhelm us.
Two days later, Rebecca called with significant news.
Blackstone had agreed to pause its claim to active use of the disputed Raven intellectual property while the ownership dispute proceeded.
The company also agreed to preserve relevant records.
I felt relief.
But Rebecca warned me not to celebrate too early.
The legal questions remained unresolved.
We still needed to establish the validity of the original assignments, the trust's authority, and the alleged misuse of my electronic signature.
I understood.
For the first time, I was becoming comfortable with progress that didn't arrive as a dramatic victory.
Sometimes progress meant one dangerous possibility had been removed.
Then another.
Then another.
That evening, I received a message from Vanessa's attorney.
She wanted to arrange a conversation about our separation.
Rebecca recommended that I speak with my own family-law attorney before making any decisions.
I agreed.
The marriage was painful enough without creating another legal disaster through anger.
A week later, Vanessa and I met in a neutral office.
She looked tired.
Her eyes were red.
For a moment, I remembered the woman I had married.
The woman who had danced with me in our kitchen.
The woman who had held my hand at my father's funeral.
I wanted to ask where she had gone.
Instead, I waited.
Vanessa spoke first.
"I made terrible choices."
I said nothing.
She continued.
"Ryan convinced me the licensing deal was inevitable. He said you were refusing because you wanted complete control."
I looked at her.
"And you believed him."
She nodded.
"I wanted the money."
The admission hurt.
But I respected the honesty more than another excuse.
She wiped her eyes.
"I thought we deserved a better life."
I looked down at my wedding ring.
"We had a good life."
She began crying.
"I know that now."
I took a breath.
"Why didn't you talk to me?"
"I did. But I didn't know how to tell you I was unhappy without sounding selfish."
I looked at her.
"So you helped steal my father's work."
She lowered her head.
"I know."
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, "Can you ever forgive me?"
I felt the weight of seven years settle over the room.
"I don't know."
She nodded.
I continued.
"But forgiveness and reconciliation aren't the same thing."
Tears slid down her cheeks.
"I understand."
I removed my wedding ring.
Placed it on the table.
And for the first time, I allowed myself to mourn the marriage I thought we had.
When I returned to the workshop, Marcus was waiting.
He handed me a folder.
"The investigators asked for another set of access records."
I frowned.
"Did they find something?"
Marcus nodded slowly.
"They identified the account used to send the threatening message."
My stomach tightened.
"Whose account?"
He looked at me.
"It appears to have been accessed through a service associated with one of Ryan's outside consultants."
I stared at him.
My brother's name was appearing again.
But Marcus wasn't finished.
"There's another problem."
He opened the folder.
"The consultant was scheduled to visit our facility three days before the unauthorized remote access attempt."
I felt cold.
"Did he come?"
Marcus nodded.
"According to the visitor records, Ryan signed him in."
I looked toward the Raven X1.
The car stood safely behind the glass of the engineering bay.
But the threat had come closer than I realized.
May you like
Someone had not merely tried to steal its design.
Someone had tried to reach the machine itself.
