Part 2:

 I need to think about this. Mr. Cross, I said I need to think about it. He hung up. His hands were shaking. He set the phone down, picked up the beer, put it down again without drinking. 17 accidents, four dead. He’d known. Not about those specific crashes, but he’d known the part was dangerous. Everyone who touched it knew.

 And he’d written it down, sent it up the chain, and watched it disappear into the bureaucratic void. The engineering report. He hadn’t thought about that in years. Ethan went to the garage, to the back room he kept locked. The room was small, windowless, lined with metal shelving, bins of failed parts organized by year and batch number, filing cabinet stuffed with printed service records, receipts, technical bulletins, and in the corner, a battered filing cabinet he’d bought at a yard sale for 20 bucks.

 He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a folder. Inside was a document he typed up in 2013, printed on an actual printer, because that’s what you did back then. Preliminary engineering analysis. Celeste Motors. Timing chain tensioner failure. TC4471B. 23 pages. Charts. Failure rate projections.

 Metallurgical analysis he’d paid for out of pocket. He’d been 22 years old, fresh out of a technical program, working his first real job at a Celeste Motors parts depot. He’d noticed the pattern. Tensioners coming back with the same failure. plastic fatigue. He’d done the math, written it up professionally, submitted it through proper channels.

 They’d thanked him for his diligence and told him they’d look into it. Two months later, they’d quietly transferred him to a different facility. 6 months after that, they’d eliminated his position entirely. Restructuring, they called it. He’d kept a copy of the report because he was young and proud of the work. It had seemed important at the time.

 Now holding it again, it felt like a live grenade. Ethan’s phone buzzed. Another text from the unknown number. Mr. Cross, people are dying. Please call me back. He turned the phone off. The next morning, Ethan dropped Maya at school and opened the shop at 7:00 a.m. Danny’s mom brought her car by at 7:30. Ethan did the temporary fix, charged her 40 instead of 50, and sent her on her way. By 9:00 a.m.

He had three more cars lined up, a transmission flush. A break job, an oil change on a truck that looked like it predated the moon landing. He worked steadily, methodically, hands busy, minded elsewhere. The bell jangled just afternoon. Ethan rolled out from under the truck and froze. The woman standing in his garage wore a gray suit that probably costs more than his monthly rent.

 Her hair was dark, pulled back, and she carried herself with the kind of posture that came from a lifetime of people saying, “Yes, ma’am.” She looked around the shop with an expression that was hard to read, not quite disgust, but definitely discomfort. “Ethan Cross?” she asked. He stood up, wiping his hands on the rag.

 “Yeah, my name is Celeste Vaughn.” The name hit him like a punch. He’d seen her face before in business articles on the covers of magazines. The Wonderkin CEO, who’d taken over Celeste Motors at 24 after her father died. The woman who’d supposedly modernized the company made it competitive again. The woman whose company was currently imploding.

I know who you are, Ethan said. Good. Then we can skip the introductions. She looked at him directly. I need your help with what? The recall, the lawsuits, all of it. She gestured vaguely. I’ve been going through old records. Your name keeps coming up. Technical bulletins you filed, service patterns, and then there’s the report from 2013.

I don’t have anything to say about that. Mr. Cross, my company is being sued for $2 billion. There are criminal investigations. The board is trying to force me out. and every lawyer I talk to keeps mentioning your name. Not my problem. Her jaw tightened. I’m prepared to compensate you for your time. Name a number. Ethan laughed short and bitter.

You think this is about money? Everything’s about money. Not this. She stared at him. Then what do you want? He set down the rag. I want you to sit down and look through 10 years of evidence until you understand what your company has been doing. every defect, every failure, every time someone brought you proof and you buried it.

 I never buried anything. Maybe not you personally, but somebody did and it happened on your watch. Celeste’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in her eyes. If I do that, if I sit down with you and look at your evidence, will you help me? Depends on what I find. I don’t have time for games, Mr. Cross.

 Then you should probably leave. They stood there locked in a stalemate. Outside, a truck rumbled past. The fluorescent lights buzzed. Finally, Celeste spoke. “When?” “Tomorrow.” “After I close, 6:00 p.m. I’ll be here.” She turned to leave, then paused. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know about the defect until 3 weeks ago.

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