He had broken one of the rules that helped him survive.
He had trusted someone too quickly.
At a bus shelter near the river, he sat on the bench and pulled his jacket tightly around himself. The rain tapped against the plastic roof. Across the road, a row of abandoned warehouses stood behind a rusted fence, their windows reflecting the gray sky.
He opened his backpack.
He wanted to check that his notebook was dry.
Instead, his hand touched something unfamiliar.
It was wrapped in a clean cloth and wedged between his spare shirt and the bottom of the bag. He pulled it out carefully. Inside was a small motorcycle electrical component with a manufacturer's label and a handwritten inventory tag.
The teenager stared.
He had never seen it before.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Then he understood.
Someone had put it in his bag.
He looked around the empty bus shelter.
Cars passed without slowing.
His first instinct was to throw the object into the river. If nobody found it, nobody could accuse him of stealing it. But the thought of destroying something that might prove what had happened stopped him.
He remembered his mother's voice.
When you're scared, slow down. Don't make a bad situation worse because you want it to disappear.
He wrapped the component again and placed it back inside the bag.
Then he sat with his head in his hands.
He had no idea who would believe him.
Back at the garage, the retired technician examined the parts inventory while the younger mechanic contacted the supplier.
The supposedly missing component had been assigned to the Shovelhead repair several days earlier, but the supplier's records showed that it had been delivered directly to the garage. The lead mechanic had signed for it. There was no record that anyone else had received or installed it.
The younger mechanic placed the delivery confirmation on the president's desk.
"This wasn't missing yesterday."
The president studied the document.
"How do you know?"
"Because I checked the inventory before we closed. It was listed as unused and in stock."
"Was it physically there?"
"I didn't open the sealed storage box."
The retired technician frowned.
"Then we need to establish what was actually in that box and who had access."
The younger mechanic nodded.
The president looked toward the security monitor.
"Save everything."
The retired technician studied him.
"What are you thinking?"
The president leaned against the desk.
"I'm thinking a man who might have tampered with a motorcycle is now trying to blame a fifteen-year-old for stealing a part."
The old technician's expression darkened.
"That's a serious accusation."
"I know."
"Then don't make it until you can prove it."
The president nodded.
"I won't."
The retired man looked toward the open garage.