A half-empty cup of coffee sat beside the old workbench.
And the Mustang waited beneath a protective cover.
Isaiah sometimes stood in front of it without moving.
He remembered their conversations.
The difficult repairs.
And the evenings when they worked until sunset because neither wanted to admit how late it had become.
His mother, Anita Reed, visited him one afternoon.
She found him sitting on a stool beside the car.
For several seconds, she watched quietly.
Then asked whether he intended to finish it.
Isaiah looked toward the yellow body.
"I don't know."
Anita stepped closer.
"Your father loved that car."
He nodded.
She continued.
"But he loved working on it with you more."
Isaiah lowered his head.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then his mother placed one hand on his shoulder.
"Finish it when you're ready. Not because you owe him anything. Because he would've loved seeing what you made together."
Isaiah began crying.
It was the first time he'd allowed himself to grieve openly since the funeral.
A few months later, he returned to the workshop.
He finished the interior carefully.
Installed the final trim pieces.
And placed a small photograph of himself and Harold inside a protective sleeve in the glove compartment.
The completed Mustang wasn't simply a collector's car.
It was the last project he'd shared with his father.
When Isaiah purchased his house in Hawthorne Estates, he made sure the garage could accommodate the Mustang comfortably.
The property was a beautiful two-story home with light-colored siding, a wide concrete driveway, a landscaped front lawn, and a spacious attached garage.
The neighborhood seemed ideal.
It was quiet.
Well maintained.
And close enough to his engineering office that he wouldn't spend hours commuting.
Before buying, Isaiah reviewed the neighborhood's governing documents with his real estate attorney.
He knew homeowners associations could have enforceable rules.
He also understood those powers were limited by the governing documents and applicable law.
The association regulated certain exterior changes, common areas, and community maintenance obligations.
But nothing he reviewed prohibited ordinary storage of a properly registered personal vehicle inside his garage.
Nor did the documents give association officers unrestricted permission to enter private garages.
Isaiah asked the attorney to confirm his understanding.
The answer was straightforward.
The association had rules and enforcement procedures.
It didn't own his car.
And its president couldn't acquire the right to take it simply by calling something a community inspection.
Isaiah purchased the house.