“Made money.”
“Legal.”
“Then somebody realized uncertainty was profitable.”
Jason said:
“So diagnosis got aggressive.”
Marcos nodded.
“Then dishonest.”
Evelyn asked:
“When did sabotage begin?”
Marcos looked down.
“I only saw it twice.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“I don't.”
He looked up.
“I know who gave the instruction.”
The room went silent.
“Grant Holloway.”
Evelyn’s stomach tightened.
“He told me the car belonged to a difficult corporate account and needed ‘confidence reduction.’”
Jason stared.
Marcos continued.
“I refused.”
“What happened?”
“Another technician got the job.”
“Name?”
“Trevor Lane.”
“Where is he?”
“Still there.”
Evelyn asked:
“Did you report it?”
“To regional.”
“What happened?”
Marcos laughed.
“Grant got promoted.”
“And you?”
“My hours disappeared.”
“I quit.”
He opened his backpack.
Pulled out a USB drive.
“I copied work-order notes.”
Jason looked at Evelyn.
Marcos said:
“Don't trust the edited versions in Bellamy’s system.”
“These are local cache backups.”
Evelyn took the drive.
“Why give me this?”
Marcos thought.
“Because I watched customers cry over estimates they didn't need.”
“I told myself it wasn't my responsibility.”
“Then they did it to a widow.”
His voice changed.
“Seventy-two-year-old woman.”
“Car belonged to her husband.”
“Dealer told her the engine block was cracked.”
“It wasn't.”
“She sold it for six thousand.”
“They repaired a fuel-pressure regulator and sold the car for sixty-eight.”
Marcos looked away.
“I found out after.”
“That's when I started copying records.”
Evelyn said:
“What's her name?”
“Margaret Ellis.”
Three days later, Evelyn sat in Margaret Ellis’s kitchen in New Jersey.
She did not bring cameras.
Lawyers.
Reporters.
Only Claire.
Margaret showed them a photograph.
Her late husband beside a dark blue sports car.
“He saved seventeen years.”
“He wanted one ridiculous thing before retirement.”
She smiled.
“That's what he called it.”
“He died three years later.”
“When the car started misfiring, I took it back to the dealership.”
“They told me the block cracked.”
“Forty-eight thousand to replace.”
“I couldn't.”
“So I sold.”
Evelyn asked:
“Did they show you the crack?”
Margaret looked confused.
“I don't know cars.”
That answer hurt.
Not because Margaret had failed.
Because somebody had counted on it.
“They showed me papers.”
“What did you receive?”
“Six thousand.”
“Do you know what happened after?”