Part 5:
She didn’t seem to notice Ethan at first. He was standing near the far edge near the pathway that ran along the building’s side, and the terrace lighting left that corner in relative shadow. She stood at the railing with a glass of white wine she wasn’t drinking much of, looking out at the grounds with the expression of someone doing mental math on a number that kept coming out wrong.
He should have stayed quiet, should have waited for a better moment, a more appropriate channel, a formal introduction. Instead, he said, “The car in the storage building. Do you know what it might be?” She turned. Her expression moved through surprise and landed on something cooler. I’m sorry.
The car in the out building by the garage, the old one. Do you have any documentation for it? Registration, provenence records, anything your father might have kept? She stared at him for a moment. He was aware of how this looked. A man in a work shirt, someone who had driven here in a truck that had a dent in the front bumper, approaching her in the dark to ask questions about her dead father’s property.
“Who are you?” she said. “Ethan Walker. I’m with the vehicle support team. I’ve been here twice now for your events. Okay. She didn’t sound hostile so much as guarded. Why are you asking about a rusty car in my storage building? He told her as simply and directly as he could, that he had seen the car, that the bodywork had indicated to him, based on his professional background, that it might not be what it appeared, that he had since consulted with colleagues whose expertise in European coach building was among the most respected in the world,
and that while nothing was confirmed, the preliminary evidence suggested the car could be historically significant. Isabella Sterling listened to all of this without interrupting. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “The car is a wreck. My father clearly wasted money on it and never got around to doing anything with it.
If you’re suggesting it has value, I’m not suggesting anything definitively. I’m saying the evidence is worth taking seriously. You’re a mechanic.” He absorbed that. I used to run one of the most respected classic car restoration businesses in the country. I closed it 6 years ago for personal reasons. my professional background in this specific area.
I’m sure it’s very impressive,” she said in a tone that made clear she did not find it impressive, that she found the entire conversation mildly presumptuous and somewhat uncomfortable and would like it to conclude. “He handed her the folder he’d put together. She took it with visible reluctance.” “The reference photographs are in there,” he said.
“The technical documentation, the names of the experts I’ve been in contact with. You don’t have to take my word for it. The materials speak for themselves. She looked at the folder. I’m asking you to consider having the car professionally assessed before doing anything else with it, he said. That’s all. She didn’t respond.
He took that as his cue to step back, to retreat to the darkness at the edge of the terrace, to resume his role as someone who was there to be useful and invisible. He drove home that night, not knowing if she’d opened the folder or put it in recycling. He found out 4 days later when she called. I looked at what you gave me, she said without preamble.
Okay. The photographs, the technical material. I had my assistant call someone at Brenford’s the auction house and they confirmed that the names you mentioned are legitimate. They are. Dr. Voss especially apparently. A pause. She’s quite eminent. Yes. Another pause. Longer. Can you arrange for the assessment to happen, the authentication process, whatever it’s called? Ethan felt something settle in his chest. Yes.
I want it done properly. I don’t want this turned into some kind of media event. My father just died and I have enough. She stopped, started again. I want it handled professionally. That’s exactly how it should be handled. And Mr. Walker, her voice was careful now, measured. If this turns out to be nothing, if my father just bought a rusty piece of junk that a clever person convinced him was something valuable, then you’ll know, Ethan said.
And that’s worth knowing, too. She was quiet for a moment. Then fine, set it up. 3 weeks was how long it took to coordinate the authentication. It took 2 weeks just to get Dr. Voss and her colleague, a photoggramometry specialist from the Stoutgart Institute to confirm their availability and get visas processed.
James Puit’s schedule needed adjustment. The estate had to be made available on specific dates. Proper lighting had to be arranged. Ethan spent significant portions of those 3 weeks on the phone and email coordinating logistics he wasn’t being paid for during hours that stretched past midnight on multiple nights. Sophie, who understood more than she let on, started asking if he was okay.
I’m fine, Sofh. You’re on the phone all the time. I know, just for a little while longer. Is it about the old car? He looked at her. What do you know about an old car? She shrugged with the elaborate casualness of a child who has been listening through walls. You said to Mrs. Delgato. It was possibly the most important thing you’d ever seen and that you needed to handle it right.
He made a mental note to have conversations at a lower volume. It’s a very old car that might be very important, he said. I’m trying to help figure that out. How old? About 60 years. She considered this. That’s really old. Really is. Is it broken? Yes, badly. Can you fix it? He was quiet for a second. That’s not really my job on this one.
