PART 2:

My grandfather built Crossline on innovation and integrity. Daniel Mercer turned it into a death machine. And I’m not going to let his legacy be 73 funerals. 73 that we know about. Nathan corrected quietly. There are probably more accidents that got ruled driver error. Mechanical failures that never got investigated properly.

Viven closed her eyes. How do you live with this? I don’t. Nathan gestured around the garage. I exist. I fix trucks. I raise my daughter. I try not to think about the people I couldn’t save because nobody would listen. I’m listening now. Too late for that to matter. Maybe Viven picked up another file. But it’s not too late to make sure Mercer pays for what he did. They worked through the night.

By dawn, Vivian’s Mercedes was loaded with boxes of evidence. Her suit was wrinkled, her hair had come loose, and she looked nothing like the polished CEO who’d walked into his garage 8 hours earlier. “I’ll call you,” she said. “When I know more.” Nathan nodded, but didn’t believe her. Rich people always said they’d call.

She drove away as the sun came up over Ashton Ridge, painting the dying town in shades of gold that made everything look almost hopeful. Nathan went inside to wake up Ellie for school. His daughter was 6 years old, small for her age, with her mother’s dark eyes and Nathan’s stubborn chin. She sat at the kitchen table in the small apartment above the garage, eating cereal and swinging her legs.

“Who was that lady?” Ellie asked. “Nobody important.” “She had a fancy car.” “Lots of people have fancy cars. Not in Ashton Ridge,” Ellie grinned. Tommy’s mom says the fanciest car here is Mr. from Peterson’s truck, and it’s only fancy because it has working AC. Nathan smiled despite himself. Tommy’s mom is a smart lady.

Is the lady coming back? I don’t think so. But he was wrong. Vivien returned 3 days later. This time, she didn’t knock. Just walked straight into the garage where Nathan was replacing the transmission on a 98 Ford Ranger and set her laptop on his workbench. “I need you to explain something,” she said. Nathan didn’t look up from the transmission. Little busy here.

This repair order. She turned the laptop toward him. March 2016. Engine serial number CX7-449213. You documented a complete fuel system failure. But according to Crossline’s records, that engine was never returned for warranty work. That’s because it exploded on I7 outside Indianapolis. Nathan wiped his hands.

Killed a truck driver named Marcus Webb. 43 years old. Left behind a wife and two teenagers. How do you know that? Because I tracked them. Nathan pulled out another folder. Newspaper clippings, obituaries, accident reports. Every engine I repaired that later failed. Every person who died because Mercer decided their lives weren’t worth the cost of a recall. Viven stared at the folder.

You’ve been documenting the deaths. Someone had to remember them. She sat down slowly on an overturned crate. The board meeting didn’t go well. Shocking. They said Mercer’s files were fabricated. That you were a disgruntled ex employee trying to extort the company. They voted to offer you a settlement in exchange for your silence.

Nathan laughed without humor. How much? 5 million. That’s less than they spend on Super Bowl commercials. I know. Vivien met his eyes. I voted against it. That was stupid. Probably, she gestured at the laptop. But I’ve been going through every file you gave me, cross-referencing accident data, warranty claims, internal memos, and I found something.

She pulled up a scan document, handwritten notes on Crossline letterhead. This is from Daniel Mercer’s personal files. A memo to the engineering department dated 2 weeks after you submitted your original report. She zoomed in on a specific line. He explicitly ordered the team to ignore your findings and proceed with production.

He knew the engines were defective and he ordered them built anyway. Nathan studied the document. Where did you get this? Mercer’s assistant. Turns out he’s been sexually harassing her for 6 years and she’s been keeping records. Viven’s smile was sharp. She was very cooperative once I offered her a legal team and a witness protection program.

This proves Mercer knew. It proves Mercer gave the order, but it doesn’t prove the board knew, which means they can claim plausible deniability and throw Mercer under the bus while protecting the company. Nathan turned back to the transmission. Then you’ve got your scapegoat. Mercer takes the fall. You rebuild the company’s reputation. Everyone moves on.

Except that’s not justice. Justice doesn’t exist. There’s just money and power, and whoever has more of both. Vivien was quiet for a moment. Is that what you really believe? It’s what 10 years of watching guilty people walk free has taught me. Then help me prove you wrong. Nathan looked at her. Really looked at her.

The CEO, who’d shown up in a designer coat 3 days ago, was gone. This woman had dark circles under her eyes and coffee stains on her blouse. “Why do you care?” he asked. You could walk away right now. Blame everything on Mercer. Keep your job. Keep your reputation because 73 people are dead. Viven’s voice cracked slightly. And my name is on the company that killed them.

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