“Public information.”
“That woman is worse than you.”
“Probably why we get along.”
Claire leaned back.
“Did you know about the hidden envelope?”
“No.”
“The connector?”
“What connector?”
Claire told her.
Paige became completely silent.
“That is the craziest thing I have ever heard.”
“You arranged a date between children of dead friends based on a posthumous letter.”
“Fair.”
Claire asked:
“Did your father know?”
“About the breakdown?”
“No.”
“He looked shocked when I told him.”
“Can I speak to him?”
That evening Claire visited Paige’s parents.
Her father, Richard Conway, brought out a box.
Inside were letters between Robert Bennett and Michael Mercer.
Dozens.
Some from the early 2000s.
Photographs.
Christmas cards.
Notes about their children.
One letter from Michael made Claire stop.
Daniel married Rachel last month. She’s wonderful. Robert, no more nonsense about our kids. Life decided.
Robert replied:
Agreed. And I am happy for him. Claire is too busy anyway. She thinks sleep is optional.
Years later:
He lost Rachel.
Robert’s handwriting on the response was shaky.
His illness had already started.
Leave him alone. Grief deserves privacy.
Claire read that twice.
Her father had never treated Daniel like a future husband.
Not really.
The later letter proved it.
If years pass and both happen to be free, Paige can introduce them. One dinner. Nothing more.
Then:
Do not tell Claire the history first. She will feel manipulated and refuse on principle.
Claire looked at Richard Conway.
“He knew me annoyingly well.”
Richard smiled sadly.
“He did.”
“What about the car?”
“I knew nothing.”
“Did Dad work on it?”
“Before delivery.”
“Why?”
“He insisted on inspecting it at the dealer storage facility.”
“Of course he did.”
Richard shook his head.
“I thought he was being Robert.”
“He was.”
Claire found one receipt.
A service note.
Robert had asked an old mechanic friend to “modify auxiliary connector retention for future demonstration.”
That was all.
Questionable.
Not dangerous.
The friend later confirmed Robert wanted the connector capable of loosening under deliberate access, but had no way to predict when.
Claire was furious.
Then touched by it.
Then furious again.
She called Daniel.
“My father was insane.”
“Good evening to you too.”
She explained.
Daniel laughed.
“So the breakdown really was random.”
“Eventually random.”
“And I happened to be behind you.”
“Yes.”
“That part nobody planned.”
“No.”
He became quiet.
Claire smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing the mechanic thing.”
“What mechanic thing?”
“Thinking before speaking.”
“That’s usually encouraged.”
“Not in dating.”
He laughed.
Then said:
“I’m glad.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want our fathers to get too much credit.”
Claire smiled.
“Agreed.”
Their second date was quieter.
A small restaurant in Denver.