Owen waited.
"Daniel and Garrett weren't merely business partners. They were friends. Close friends. They trusted each other with things they wouldn't have trusted anyone else to handle."
"Then what happened between them?"
Ray sighed.
"Grief changes people. Sometimes it changes them so much that they become strangers to everyone who knew them before."
Owen thought of Garrett's expression when he mentioned Daniel.
"He still hates him."
"Maybe."
"Do you think he believes my father caused the crash?"
Ray looked at him.
"I think Garrett has spent fifteen years needing someone to blame."
The words settled between them.
Owen turned back to the photograph.
"Then I need to find out what really happened."
Ray shook his head.
"Be careful."
"Why?"
"Because if Daniel was telling the truth, somebody had a reason to make sure nobody believed him."
Owen looked toward the dark windows.
For the first time, the silence of the garage felt less like peace and more like a warning.
The following morning, Ray called Garrett Steel.
He explained that Owen had found something in Daniel's notes and needed to inspect the Blackbird again.
Garrett refused.
"The bike runs. The deal is finished."
Ray did not argue.
He simply said, "The boy found a note in Daniel's handwriting."
The line went quiet.
After several seconds, Garrett answered.
"Bring him to my house."
The Steel estate stood beyond a long iron gate on the outskirts of Millhaven. The driveway curved through a row of old oak trees before reaching a stone house with tall windows and a circular fountain.
Owen had never seen a private residence like it.
But he barely noticed the house.
He was staring at the garage.
It was large enough to hold twenty motorcycles, with polished floors, bright overhead lights, and cabinets filled with tools arranged so precisely that every drawer looked untouched.
The Blackbird stood in the center.
Garrett waited beside it.
"You have one hour."
Owen nodded.
He removed the seat and disconnected the battery. Then he opened the safety box and examined the circuit board.
The workmanship was unmistakable.
Every wire had been labeled in tiny capital letters. The soldering was clean, and the components had been arranged with a precision that made Owen think of his father's old notebooks.
He checked the relay.
Then the connector.
Then the sealed compartment beneath the board.
A thin metal plate covered it.
Owen had not noticed the plate the previous afternoon because it was hidden beneath the circuit housing.
He removed the screws and lifted it carefully.
Inside lay a folded piece of paper wrapped in clear plastic.
Garrett stepped closer.
"What is that?"
Owen unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Daniel Fletcher's.
The letter began with a single line.
Nora, if you are reading this, then I did not make it home.
Owen felt his breath catch.
He looked at Ray.
The older mechanic had gone pale.
Garrett reached for the letter.
Owen pulled it back.
"It's addressed to my mother."
Garrett stopped.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Owen read the next lines.
I have found proof that the crash was not an accident. I cannot trust the people who are supposed to help us. If anything happens to me, keep the boy safe and do not tell Garrett until you know who is watching him.
Owen read the sentence twice.
Keep the boy safe.
He looked up.
"What boy?"
Garrett's expression hardened.
"What does the rest say?"
Owen continued.
Daniel's letter described a man named Samuel Price, an attorney who had once worked for Steel & Fletcher Motor Works. Samuel, Daniel wrote, had possession of the original partnership agreement, safety reports, and records that could explain why Victor Steel had been so determined to control the company.
The letter ended with a sentence written in darker ink.
The truth is not in the motorcycle. The motorcycle is only the key.
Owen folded the paper carefully.
Garrett stood motionless.
Then he whispered, "Daniel knew."
"Knew what?" Owen asked.
Garrett looked toward the Blackbird.
"I don't know."
For the first time, Owen believed him.
And that frightened him more than any accusation could have.
THE BROTHER WHO NEVER RAISED HIS VOICE
Victor Steel arrived at the estate shortly after noon.
His dark sedan rolled through the iron gates and followed the driveway toward the garage. He stepped out wearing a charcoal suit, a white shirt, and polished black shoes. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his expression carried the calm assurance of a man who had spent years convincing people that he was the most reasonable person in every room.
At fifty, Victor had mastered the art of making threats sound like advice.
He greeted Garrett with a brief embrace.
Then he noticed Owen.
"Who's this?"
Garrett hesitated.
"This is Owen Fletcher. He's the mechanic who repaired the Blackbird."
Victor extended his hand.
"Victor Steel."
Owen shook it.
"Nice to meet you."
Victor's smile remained in place.
"And Fletcher is your family name?"
"Yes."
"Any relation to Daniel Fletcher?"
Owen looked directly at him.
"He's my father."
Victor's hand tightened around his for a fraction of a second.
Then he released it.
"Well," he said pleasantly, "that's quite a surprise."
Garrett watched him.
"You knew Daniel."
"Of course. We worked together for years."
Victor turned back to Owen.
"I didn't know he had a son."
"Most people didn't."
"That's unfortunate."
His tone was sympathetic, but something in his eyes made Owen uncomfortable.
Victor glanced toward the Blackbird.
"I heard you managed to get it running. Impressive."
"Thank you."
"Daniel always had a talent for engineering. It was a shame he couldn't apply the same discipline to his personal affairs."
Garrett's face tightened.
Owen said nothing.
Victor continued as though he had not noticed.
"What brings you here today?"
"We found something inside the safety circuit," Garrett answered.
Victor looked at the motorcycle.
"What sort of thing?"
Owen held the letter behind his back.
"A letter."
Victor's expression did not change.
"From Daniel?"
"Yes."
"May I see it?"
Owen shook his head.
"Not yet."
Victor's smile faded slightly.
"Why not?"
"It's addressed to my mother."
"Naturally. But if it concerns the company, Garrett should have an opportunity to read it."
Owen looked at Garrett.
"I'll share it when I understand what it says."
Victor gave a small laugh.
"You're protective of it."
"It's the only letter from my father I've ever found."
For the first time, Victor appeared to consider the boy as something more than an inconvenience.
His gaze settled on Owen's face.
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"And you've spent your entire life in Millhaven?"
"Most of it."
Victor nodded.
"Interesting."
He turned to Garrett.
"Perhaps we should discuss this privately."
Garrett crossed his arms.
"Why?"
"Because Daniel's name has caused enough trouble for this family already."
Owen felt anger rising in his chest.
"My father isn't here to defend himself."
Victor looked at him.
"No, he isn't."
"Then maybe you should stop talking about him as though he can answer for himself."
Garrett's eyes widened slightly.
Victor stared at Owen for a long moment.