Camille opened her eyes.
“Call your attorney.”
Evan nodded.
“I’m calling mine.”
This time he did not stop her.
Camille did not call Harlan Voss.
She called Naomi Pierce, Arden Mobility’s general counsel.
Naomi answered immediately.
“Camille?”
“I need you to come to Baxter Street.”
“Are you still at the garage?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mercer refuse?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Camille looked at the AR-7.
“I found my father’s car.”
Silence.
Naomi said:
“I’m sorry?”
“The AR-7.”
Another silence.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“Do not touch anything.”
Camille almost laughed.
“Too late.”
“Who is present?”
“The owner and his son.”
“Security?”
“No.”
“Do not call corporate security.”
Camille froze.
“Why?”
Naomi’s response came too fast.
“Chain of custody.”
Camille narrowed her eyes.
“Is that all?”
“What are you asking?”
“Nothing.”
“Come here.”
“I’m leaving now.”
The call ended.
Evan’s attorney arrived first.
Maria Cruz was thirty-eight, five feet four, wore a navy blazer over jeans, and walked into the garage carrying two phones and an expression that made Camille understand immediately why Evan liked her.
She stopped when she saw the car.
“Oh.”
Evan said:
“Yeah.”
Maria looked at Camille.
Then at Evan.
Then at Noah.
“You told the child before me?”
Noah said:
“I found the switch.”
Maria closed her eyes.
“Of course you did.”
Camille asked:
“What switch?”
Noah pointed toward the hydraulic lever.
“Dad didn’t tell me what it opened.”
“I thought it was a lift.”
“I pulled it last year.”
Evan added:
“Only two inches.”
“I disconnected power after.”
Maria stared at him.
“We are going to discuss your household safety standards later.”
Evan nodded.
“Fair.”
Maria took photographs.
So did Camille.
They recorded continuous video around the vehicle before touching the cockpit.
Naomi Pierce arrived twenty-seven minutes later with an outside evidence specialist rather than Arden security.
Camille noticed and approved.
Naomi stood at the garage entrance.
Her face changed when she saw the car.
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
“No.”
Naomi stepped closer.
Then stopped.
“Who knows?”
Camille said:
“Us.”