PART 4:

Silence on the other end. Then you’re making a serious mistake. Then I’ll make it on my own terms. She hung up. Nathan was staring at her. They’ll come after you now. Let them. Viven, I’m done pretending. Her voice was shaking but firm. I’m done protecting people who value money over human lives. And I’m done being afraid of doing the right thing just because it might cost me everything.

The fluorescent lights flickered again. Nathan wiped his hands on the rag and walked over to his desk. He pulled out a folder he’d kept separate from all the others. You should see this first. Inside was a photograph of a white envelope and a handwritten note on crossline letterhead. Viven read it twice, then she sat down hard on the concrete floor.

This is Mercer’s handwriting. I know. This is a direct order to remove defective engines from warranty records. I know that, too. This is dated 3 days before the Chicago Highway accident. The one where where Robert Patterson was paralyzed from the neck down. Nathan’s voice was flat. Father of two, former Marine. He’ll never walk again because Daniel Mercer decided fixing a $50 wiring flaw wasn’t worth the cost.

Vivian’s hands were shaking so hard she nearly dropped the photo. Where did you get this? My bookkeeper found it last week, tucked inside an old repair folder I’d forgotten about. Mercer must have accidentally included it in one of the shipments. This is evidence of criminal negligence, possibly manslaughter. It’s proof Mercer knew exactly what he was doing.

Nathan took the photo back carefully, and it connects directly to a victim with a name and a face and a family who can testify in court about what was taken from them. Viven stood slowly like she was moving through water. We need to get this to the federal prosecutor immediately. No, Nathan, not yet. He returned the folder to his desk.

Because the minute we hand this over, Mercer will know we have it, and desperate men do desperate things. As if on quue, headlights swept across the garage. A black SUV pulled into the parking lot. Daniel Mercer climbed out. He looked exactly like Nathan remembered. Expensive suit, professional smile, the kind of man who could order someone’s death and sleep soundly that night. Nathan.

Mercer’s voice was warm, friendly, like they were old colleagues meeting for drinks. It’s been too long. Nathan stepped between Mercer in the garage entrance. You need to leave. I just want to talk. We’ve got nothing to discuss. Mercer’s eyes flicked to Viven, who had gone very still beside the filing cabinets. Hello, Vivien. Surprised to see you here.

I’m sure you are. I’m disappointed. Actually, I trained you better than this. Mercer’s smile didn’t waver. Fraternizing with disgruntled ex employees, making reckless accusations. This isn’t like you. You don’t know me at all. I know you’re about to make a very serious mistake. Mercer pulled an envelope from his jacket, which is why I’m here with a solution that benefits everyone.

He set the envelope on Nathan’s workbench. $10 million cash completely untraceable in exchange for every file in this garage and your written statement that you fabricated the evidence as part of a personal vendetta against Crossline Motors. Nathan didn’t touch the envelope. That’s your offer? It’s more than generous considering you have no legal standing and significant credibility issues.

Mercer’s professional warmth was starting to crack. Take the money, Nathan. Raise your daughter somewhere nice. Start over. And the 73 people who died were tragic accidents. Mercer’s voice hardened. The kind of statistical inevitabilities that occur in any manufacturing process. You can’t blame Crossline for the inherent risks of automotive engineering.

I can blame you for ignoring every warning and building cars you knew would kill people. Mercer’s mask dropped completely. You self-righteous piece of He stopped, visibly controlling himself. You think you’re a hero? You’re a failed engineer working in a garage that’s one inspection away from being condemned. Your daughter eats mac and cheese four nights a week because you can barely afford groceries. You have nothing.

I have something you don’t, Nathan said quietly. A clear conscience. Mercer laughed. Conscience doesn’t pay rent. Conscience doesn’t put your kid through college. Conscience doesn’t get out. Nathan, get out of my garage before I throw you out. For a long moment, Mercer just stood there. Then his expression shifted into something cold and calculating.

You’re making a mistake, both of you. He looked at Viven. By the end of the week, you’ll both be facing criminal charges for attempted fraud and extortion. I have lawyers who will bury you so deep you’ll never see sunlight again. Try it, Vivien said. Mercer picked up his envelope and walked to the door.

But he paused in the entrance, silhouetted against the parking lot lights. I made you, Nathan. After your wife died and you fell apart, I gave you a lifeline, a way to feed your daughter and keep a roof over her head. And this is how you repay me? Nathan’s voice was very quiet. You didn’t give me a lifeline.

You gave me a muzzle and you used my daughter as leverage to keep me quiet while people died. Then I guess we’re done here. Mercer walked back to his SUV and drove away. The garage was silent except for the fluorescent lights and Vivien’s unsteady breathing. He’s going to come after us, she said. I know. He’s going to use every dirty trick he has.

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