But the Lamborghini remained a childhood dream.
Until Raymond found one.
The car had been damaged years earlier.
A previous owner had stored it improperly after a major mechanical failure, and several repair estimates discouraged further investment.
Its yellow paint had deteriorated.
The interior needed attention.
And the engine required extensive professional work.
Raymond believed the car could be restored, but he understood the cost would be substantial.
He called Caleb one winter afternoon.
"Remember that yellow Diablo we saw when you were a kid?"
Caleb laughed.
"Of course."
"Well, I found something."
Caleb drove to the workshop the following Saturday.
His father was standing beside a low vehicle covered with a gray tarp.
When Raymond pulled back the cover, Caleb stopped breathing for a moment.
The Lamborghini was in rough condition.
But its shape was unmistakable.
The wedge-shaped body.
The enormous side air intakes.
The iconic doors.
And traces of brilliant yellow beneath the faded finish.
Caleb slowly approached.
"No way."
Raymond grinned.
"Way."
For several seconds, Caleb simply stared.
Then he looked toward his father.
"How much work does it need?"
Raymond laughed.
"More than either of us should probably admit."
They spent that afternoon examining the car.
Raymond explained what he knew about its history and what still required professional assessment.
Caleb began calculating costs.
Then he realized his father wasn't asking whether buying the car was a sensible investment.
He was asking whether Caleb wanted to build something together.
Caleb looked toward the damaged Lamborghini.
Then back at Raymond.
"Let's do it."
His father smiled.
"That's what I was hoping you'd say."
The restoration became the most demanding project they ever shared.
It took years.
There were delays finding suitable parts, mechanical problems that required specialists, and months when the car sat untouched because other work took priority.
Caleb helped finance the project through his engineering business, while Raymond contributed decades of experience, tools, and professional contacts.
They argued occasionally.
Not about whether the car mattered.
But about how to approach difficult repairs.
Raymond favored patience.
Caleb sometimes wanted to move faster.
One evening, after a complicated component failed a second inspection, Caleb slammed a notebook onto the workbench.
"This thing is never going to run."
Raymond didn't look up.
He continued examining the part.
Then said calmly, "That's a strange thing to say about something we haven't finished fixing."
Caleb shook his head.
"We've spent months on this."