"The old man brought in another technician. They're checking everything."
The collector leaned back.
"How much do they know?"
"I don't know."
"Did they find the missing parts?"
"Some."
"What about the records?"
"They're looking."
The collector stared at him.
"Then why are you standing here?"
The mechanic raised his voice.
"Because you said this would be easy."
The collector stood slowly.
"I said it would be profitable."
"You said nobody would get hurt."
The collector laughed.
"Nobody's hurt."
"That kid could get me arrested."
The collector's expression changed.
He walked around the desk.
"Listen carefully. You have an agreement with me."
The mechanic shook his head.
"Not anymore."
The collector stepped closer.
"You took an advance. You submitted invoices to support the story we agreed on. And you've been telling people that the motorcycle is practically worthless."
The mechanic swallowed.
"I can pay you back."
"With what?"
"I'll find the money."
The collector smiled coldly.
"You couldn't find it before."
The mechanic looked toward the office door.
"What do you want?"
The collector studied him.
"I want the bike."
"They won't sell it."
"Then change their minds."
"How?"
The collector leaned against the desk.
"Make them believe keeping it will cost more than selling it."
The mechanic stared.
"I've already done enough."
The collector's voice became flat.
"Then you'd better hope they never discover exactly how much."
He returned to his chair.
"And keep that teenager out of the garage."
The mechanic felt his stomach tighten.
"Leave him alone."
The collector looked up sharply.
"Excuse me?"
"He's just a kid."
The collector stared at him.
Then he smiled.
"Funny. You didn't seem worried about that when he was being thrown around yesterday."
The mechanic said nothing.
The collector turned back to his computer.
"Close the door on your way out."
The mechanic remained standing.
For a brief moment, he considered confessing everything to the president. He imagined walking into the garage, admitting what he had done, and accepting whatever consequences followed. But then he pictured his debts, his family, the false invoices, and the collector's ability to make his life even worse.
Fear won.
He walked out.
And by the time he reached his truck, he had begun planning how to shift suspicion onto someone else.
The following morning began with rain.
A cold drizzle swept across the town before sunrise, turning the streets silver and collecting in the cracks along the garage parking lot. The president arrived shortly after seven and found the younger mechanic already waiting beneath the awning. The man held a folder against his chest and looked as though he had been awake most of the night.
"Something happened?" the president asked.
The mechanic nodded.
"I checked the original parts orders."
They entered the office together.