“What do you want from Arden?”
“Nothing tonight.”
“Eventually.”
“A fair lease settlement.”
“Independent ownership determination for car.”
“Legal protection if my father’s role becomes public.”
“And my shop equipment not crushed.”
Camille laughed once.
“Reasonable.”
“I try.”
“No money?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She smiled.
He did too.
It was the first moment they felt like two adults rather than opposing sides.
The aluminum case was opened the following morning in a secure forensic laboratory.
Camille.
Evan.
Maria.
Naomi.
Two evidence technicians.
A retired federal transportation investigator named Leonard Shaw, hired as an independent consultant.
No Harlan.
He had been told not to attend.
He called Camille six times before ten.
She answered none.
Inside the case were four objects.
A microcassette recorder.
Three small tapes in plastic sleeves.
A sealed envelope addressed to Frank Mercer.
A data-storage module from the AR-7’s onboard telemetry system.
And a thin engineering notebook.
Camille recognized her father’s handwriting immediately.
The envelope came first.
Frank—
If this reaches you after Blackstone, do not give the car to Harlan.
Do not give it to company security.
The steering assemblies from Crown Precision do not match the certified metallurgy reports.
AR-7 chassis 01 has the verified replacement rack and the complete pre-change telemetry set.
The chassis scheduled for Friday’s endurance run was altered after sign-off.
I am bringing copies to outside counsel Monday.
If something happens before then, keep 01 where it cannot be substituted, scrapped, or “reconstructed.”
Camille should never inherit a lie simply because it protects my name.
If I am wrong, destroy this letter and call me an arrogant bastard.
If I am right, tell my daughter I tried to stop it.
—Graham
Nobody spoke.
Camille read it twice.
Then a third time.
Her eyes stopped on:
tell my daughter
She did not cry.
Not yet.
The retired investigator said:
“Friday’s endurance run.”
“What date was Blackstone crash?”
Naomi answered.
“Monday, October eighteenth.”
He frowned.
“Letter suggests a Friday run before that.”
Evan said:
“My father’s note on back.”
They turned the page.
Frank’s handwriting:
G came Sunday night. Said test moved to Monday. Told me 01 stays buried. He took chassis 03. Voss knew.
Camille’s stomach tightened.
“Chassis three.”
Leonard Shaw looked at her.
“The official NTSB-style internal investigation identified wreckage as chassis one?”
“Yes.”
Naomi had already pulled the archived report.
She opened the scanned copy.
AR-7 PROTOTYPE CHASSIS 01
Leonard leaned back.
“Then either Frank was wrong, or the report was.”
They examined the engineering notebook.
Part numbers.
Hardness tests.
Photographs stapled to pages.
Steering rack sections.
One set labeled Crown Precision.
Another labeled Replacement.
Metallurgical test results.
Handwritten warnings.