Almost everything Daniel had built disappeared.
Almost.
One old metal toolbox remained.
Daniel had kept it at home.
Inside were dozens of worn tools.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing valuable.
But Owen refused to sell them.
When he started working at Iron Rail, he brought the toolbox with him.
He never said much about it.
Most people assumed it was junk.
Owen let them think that.
Now, as the crowd surrounded Garrett Steel’s motorcycle, Owen could almost hear his father’s voice again.
Listen.
Don’t guess.
Listen.
He had already found the loose ground wire.
That explained part of the problem.
But not all of it.
The motorcycle had been running badly before the electrical connection failed completely.
Owen could tell from the way Garrett had described it.
It had probably started with occasional hesitation.
Maybe a brief loss of power.
Then difficulty starting.
Then complete failure.
The loose ground had made everything worse.
But it was not the original problem.
Owen crouched beside the engine.
“Start it.”
Garrett frowned.
“You said you fixed it.”
“I fixed one problem.”
Garrett looked at Ray.
Ray nodded.
“Let’s see.”
Garrett turned the ignition.
The dashboard lights came alive.
The garage became quiet.
He pressed the starter.
The engine turned.
Once.
Twice.
Then it exploded to life.
The sound filled the building.
Several people cheered.
Ray looked impressed.
Garrett stared at Owen.
Then the engine sputtered.
It coughed.
The idle dropped.
And three seconds later, it died.
The garage became silent again.
Garrett slowly turned toward Owen.
Owen nodded.
“That’s what I expected.”
Garrett’s face tightened.
“You expected it to die?”
“Yes.”
“Then fix it.”
Owen stood.
“I’m trying.”
A few bikers laughed.
Garrett did not.
He watched as Owen moved around the motorcycle.
The young man asked for a flashlight.
Then he inspected the fuel lines.
Nothing.
He checked the throttle body.
Nothing obvious.
He examined the ignition coils.
Again, nothing.
Ray crossed his arms.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something that changed.”
Garrett frowned.
“I told you. Nothing changed.”
Owen looked at him.
“You changed the seat.”
“That has nothing to do with the engine.”
“Maybe.”
Garrett looked irritated.
“Kid…”
Owen interrupted him.
“Who installed it?”
Garrett stared.
“I did.”
“Did you buy it new?”
“No.”
“From where?”
“A guy I know.”
“Who?”
Garrett hesitated.
“What does that matter?”
Owen stood.
“If you want me to stop asking questions, that’s fine.”
He turned away.
The crowd immediately reacted.
Garrett cursed under his breath.
“Fine.”
Owen stopped.
Garrett looked toward the floor.
“His name is Mason.”
“The guy who sold you the seat?”
“Yes.”
“Does he work on motorcycles?”
Garrett hesitated.
“Sometimes.”
“Did he modify the seat?”
“I don’t know.”
Owen nodded.
“Did he have access to your bike?”
Garrett looked up sharply.
“No.”
Owen stared at him.
“Are you sure?”
Garrett stepped closer.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing yet.”
The young mechanic turned back toward the motorcycle.
He removed the seat completely.
Underneath was a space containing several electrical connections and part of the fuel system.
Owen shined the flashlight into the narrow compartment.
Then he reached inside.
His fingers moved carefully along the frame.
Suddenly, he stopped.
Ray leaned closer.
“What?”
Owen pulled out something small.
A piece of folded tape.
He opened it.
Inside was a tiny metal fragment.
Garrett stared.
“What is that?”
Owen placed it in his palm.
“It looks like someone dropped a piece of metal into the compartment.”
Garrett shrugged.
“So?”
“So metal and electrical systems usually don’t become friends when they’re loose.”
Ray took the fragment.
His expression grew serious.
“That could have shorted something.”
“Not only that,” Owen said.
He pointed toward a connector.
“There’s damage here.”
Garrett bent down.
Owen moved the flashlight.
The insulation on one wire had been scraped.
Not completely cut.
Just enough.
Garrett stared.
“Could vibration have done that?”
Owen looked at him.
“Maybe.”
But his voice suggested otherwise.
The room became quiet.
Garrett looked toward the open garage door.
Outside, the evening had become dark.
The orange sunlight was gone.
The bikers who had arrived for a quick stop were no longer leaving.
They wanted to see what happened.
Garrett looked at the five stacks of money.
Then at Owen.
“You keep working.”
Owen nodded.
“You still want to make the bet?”
Garrett smiled again, but there was less confidence in it.
“I never backed down from one.”
Owen walked to his old toolbox.
He opened it.
The tools inside were worn.
Scratched.
Some had faded markings.
One wrench had a dark stain near the handle.
Garrett noticed it.
“That thing looks like it belongs in a museum.”
Owen picked it up.
“My father used it.”
Garrett’s expression changed.
For a moment, Owen saw something different in him.
Recognition.
Maybe even respect.
Then Garrett looked away.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s see if your father knew more than everyone else in this building.”
Owen looked down at the wrench.
“He did.”
And then he went back to work.
By nine o’clock that night, Iron Rail Motorcycle Garage should have been closed.
Instead, the building was more crowded than it had been during business hours.
News traveled quickly among bikers.
Especially when money was involved.
Someone had posted a message in a local riding group.
GARRETT STEEL BETS $5,000 THAT A KID CAN’T FIX HIS BIKE.
Within an hour, riders began arriving.
Some came because they knew Garrett.
Others came because they wanted to watch him lose.
A few came because they wanted to see whether Owen Carter was about to embarrass himself.
Inside the garage, Owen ignored all of them.
He had spent the last hour tracing the electrical system.
The loose ground connection had been repaired.
The damaged wire had been replaced.
But the engine still refused to run correctly.
It would start.
Idle roughly.
Then shut down.
The problem was becoming stranger.
Garrett stood several feet away, watching silently.
Ray approached Owen.
“You hungry?”
Owen shook his head.
“You’ve been working for hours.”
“I’m fine.”
Ray lowered his voice.
“You know you don’t have to prove anything.”
Owen looked up.
“You’ve said that already.”
“Because I mean it.”
Owen returned to the motorcycle.
Ray sighed.
“You think Garrett’s just going to hand over five grand?”
“If I fix the bike, he will.”
Ray looked uncertain.
“You don’t know Garrett.”
Owen smiled slightly.
“No. But I know guys like him.”
“What does that mean?”
“They care about pride.”
Ray frowned.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
Owen tightened a bolt.
“If I’m wrong, he gets to laugh at me. If I’m right and he refuses to pay, everyone here knows he’s afraid of losing to me.”