Jax's face fell.
"How long without them?"
Sam looked around the garage.
"One night."
Before Jax could answer, a luxury sedan rolled into the lot.
Sam's face changed.
The color drained from it.
"That's him."
"Who?"
"Silas Croft."
A tall man stepped out of the sedan.
His tailored suit looked absurd against the dusty industrial road.
His shoes were spotless.
His smile was polished.
His eyes were cold.
Croft walked into the garage.
"Samuel."
Sam straightened.
"Mr. Croft."
"I've come for an answer."
"I told you I need more time."
"You've had enough time."
Croft pulled a folded document from his jacket.
He placed it on the workbench.
"Final notice."
Sam stared at it.
Croft smiled.
"Eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
Jax looked down.
The paper covered part of Sam's drawing.
A legal document had landed directly over a miracle.
Croft continued.
"Property taxes. Legal fees. Outstanding obligations. You can't afford this place."
"This garage has been in my family for fifty years."
"Sentiment doesn't pay taxes."
Sam's shoulders dropped.
Croft turned to Jax.
"And you are?"
"A customer."
Croft looked amused.
"Of course."
He glanced at the brace.
"Whatever little project you're discussing, it won't matter tomorrow."
Jax's eyes hardened.
Croft smiled.
"Good evening."
He walked away.
His sedan disappeared down the road.
Sam sank onto a stool.
"It's over."
Jax stared at him.
"No."
Sam looked up.
"He owns the paperwork."
"Maybe."
"He owns the lawyers."
"Maybe."
"He owns the property."
"Not yet."
Sam laughed bitterly.
"You don't understand."
Jax picked up the eviction notice.
He slowly crumpled it in his fist.
"I understand perfectly."
He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.
"You're going to build that brace."
Sam stared at him.
"And the garage?"
Jax looked toward the street.
"You let me worry about that."
The Miracle of Metal
Sam Finch had spent years believing he was a mechanic.
That night, he remembered who he really was.
An engineer without a diploma.
An inventor without investors.
A craftsman without anyone willing to bet on him.
He turned the garage into a laboratory.
The first problem was material.
Titanium.
He searched through old inventory.
Then he remembered a custom motorcycle frame he'd abandoned years earlier.
A sheet of T6 titanium sat behind a stack of rusted wheels.
He dragged it into the center of the garage.
"You're coming back to life."
Next came the pneumatic system.
Years earlier, Sam had repaired a dental chair and salvaged its micro-cylinder components.
They had been sitting in a box ever since.
He opened the box.
Perfect.
The gyroscope was harder.
He searched through old electronic equipment until he remembered a broken drone he'd found in a dumpster.
He had kept it because the internal stabilizer fascinated him.
Now it might help a boy walk.
Hours disappeared.
Sam cut titanium.
He welded.
He measured.
He recalculated.
He discarded pieces.
He started again.
His father's voice seemed to follow him.
Measure twice.
Cut once.
But feel it first.
The metal will tell you what it wants to be.
Sam smiled.
"I hear you, Dad."
The garage became a storm of sparks.
The welding torch hissed.
Tools clattered.
Tiny pieces of metal became joints.
Joints became mechanisms.
Mechanisms became a frame.
The new brace looked nothing like Cody's old one.
The old brace had been bulky and rigid.
This one was sleek.
Light.
Almost elegant.
The titanium frame wrapped around the leg like protective armor.
Micro tubing ran inside the structure.
The pneumatic cylinders were hidden within the frame.
The gyroscopic stabilizer sat near the knee.
A tiny processor monitored movement.
Sam tested the system repeatedly.
He deliberately tilted the brace.
The gyroscope reacted.
He applied pressure.
The cylinders responded.
He moved the joint.
The mechanism followed.
He stopped.
The brace stopped.
It wasn't fighting movement.
It was cooperating with it.
Near dawn, Sam placed the finished device on the workbench.
He stepped backward.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
The old brace sat beside it.
The difference was enormous.
One was a prison.