And then, because she loved him, she helped him find a safe place to store it.
For years, the prototype sat in a carefully maintained garage behind our house.
It wasn't a neglected shell.
My father protected the engine, monitored the condition of the body, preserved the original components, and kept detailed records of every repair.
He never treated it like an ordinary used car.
He knew its rarity.
He simply didn't know how valuable it would eventually become.
As I grew older, I became his assistant.
We documented parts.
Cleaned electrical connections.
And learned why certain experimental components couldn't be replaced with ordinary production pieces without damaging the car's historical integrity.
My father taught me the difference between restoration and alteration.
"Anybody can make an old car shiny," he said. "But preserving what makes it special takes discipline."
I didn't fully understand until years later.
When I was fifteen, I made the mistake of asking whether we could paint the car black.
I thought black would look cooler.
My father stopped polishing the front grille and stared at me.
Then he handed me a folder.
Inside was the original factory paint specification.
The color had been developed specifically for the prototype, with metallic pigments and a finishing process the manufacturer used only for its experimental program.
The paint wasn't simply decorative.
It was part of the car's identity.
My father showed me photographs from 1967.
Engineers standing beside the vehicle.
A test driver leaning against the fender.
And one image showing my father, young and thin, kneeling beside the open hood while an older engineer pointed toward the electrical system.
I stared at the picture.
"That's you?"
He smiled.
"That's me."
I looked toward the car.
Then back at the photograph.
For the first time, I understood that the Phoenix wasn't simply a machine he liked.
It was evidence of a period in his life that the world had largely forgotten.
I handed him the paint specification.
Then apologized for suggesting black.
He laughed.
"Nothing wrong with asking questions."
Then he tapped the photograph.
"Just make sure you learn the story before changing something."
That sentence stayed with me longer than he could have imagined.
I eventually left home for college.
I studied mechanical engineering for two years before transferring into industrial electrical systems. I later established a contracting business specializing in power distribution, automation equipment, and maintenance for commercial facilities.
The early years were difficult.
I worked long shifts.
Made mistakes.
Lost contracts I thought were guaranteed.