Cole brought what he found in the car each time she came. New stamps, new physical evidence, measurements and photographs, and careful comparisons with what she'd brought from the records. It was like doing a puzzle where neither person had the box. Her documents told them what had been ordered, when, by whom, and to what specification. Cole's knowledge told them what the physical evidence meant, which stamps corresponded to which build phases, what the internal codes indicated about the construction sequence, where the significant components were located.
Together, slowly, a picture assembled. The car was the third and final prototype build. Builds 1 and 2 had been partial structural tests, never completed to running condition. Build 3 was the full vehicle, chassis, running gear, bodywork, powertrain. It had been completed in late 2017, about 2 months before the project was officially terminated.
The completion date in Victoria's records preceded the termination announcement by 8 weeks, which meant someone had known the project was ending and had pushed to finish the car anyway. "Marsh," Victoria said on the fourth day she came down, sitting across from Cole at the workshop desk with documents spread between them. He completed it after he knew the company was going to shut it down. He was already planning something. "The car was his," Cole said.
"Not legally, but he built it. He'd have felt that way about it. " "That's not how corporate asset ownership works. " "No, but that's how people work. Victoria looked at him with a brief expression that might have been the beginning of agreement and might have been something else. She didn't respond directly. Emma came in from the back office where she'd been doing homework, poured herself a glass of water, looked at the documents on the desk with undisguised curiosity, and went back out.
Victoria watched her go. "She does that a lot," Cole said. "Does what? " "Comes in, assesses the situation, leaves. She's been doing it since she was four. " He paused. "She gets it from her mother. " Victoria looked at him briefly and then back at her documents.
Cole didn't elaborate and she didn't ask. It was one of the things he noticed about her in those early weeks. She didn't probe into territory he hadn't opened. It should have been a small thing, unremarkable, but Cole had been a single father in a relatively small professional community for 5 years, and the number of people who treated the line between professional and personal as something real and worth respecting was, in his experience, not large. He filed it away without making anything of it.
There was too much else to think about. The work got harder when they reached the powertrain. The engine bay was the seat of the fire damage. That was where it had started. And what remained of the drivetrain was badly compromised.
But the engine itself, a bespoke unit that bore no external markings visible through the fire damage, held a secret that Cole only found because he knew to look for it. On the underside of the engine block, in a location that would require the engine to be partially lifted from its mounts to see, was a small titanium plate. Not stamped, welded directly to the block, a permanent fixture. On it, in precise machined characters, a full project designation string, build number, and a sequential production identifier. Cole photographed it from six angles and sat back on the creeper under the car and looked at the ceiling for a long time.
A welded titanium plate was not a manufacturing stamp. Manufacturing stamps were for internal tracking. Useful, but dismissible as forgeries by someone with the right tools and enough motive. A titanium plate welded to a one-off engine block was a different category of thing entirely. It was the kind of permanent identification you put on something when you wanted there to be no question ever about what it was.
Someone on that team had known the car might need to prove itself someday. Cole was not certain, but his best guess was that it had been Marsh. A man who planned to use the car as leverage would want that leverage to be unimpeachable. He called Victoria from under the car, which was an awkward phone call, but he wanted to tell her immediately. "Titanium plate," he said, "welded to the block.
Full designation string. " A silence, then "That's Cole, if that's confirmed by a materials examiner, that's essentially irrefutable. It's going to need independent verification. I know what I'm reading, but I can't be the only one saying it. No, we need specialists. " Her voice shifted into the register it took on when she was planning rather than reacting. "There's a materials authentication firm in Denver that works with the FIA on historic racing vehicles.
I've used them before. They're discreet. " "How discreet? " "They understand that some authentication work is sensitive. " "That's not an answer. " "They've authenticated three vehicles for clients who had legal complications attached. All three situations resolved cleanly. " A pause. "I trust them. " Cole rolled out from under the car and sat up. "Book them for 3 weeks from now.
I want more documentation complete before anyone else comes in here. " "Agreed. " Another pause, shorter. Cole, this is becoming real. "It's been real," he said. "You're just catching up. " She made a sound that might have been a short involuntary laugh, not the kind she was in control of, which made it different from every other expression he'd seen from her. He noticed it and said nothing.
After he hung up, he sat on the shop floor for a while in the particular silence of 3:00 in the afternoon in a Tucson industrial unit, with the traffic noise from I-10 filtering through the walls, and Emma's music faintly audible from the office, and the burned remains of a car that wasn't supposed to exist sitting in his bay. He thought about calling his mechanics lien attorney about whether possessing a vehicle of uncertain ownership created any liability issues. He thought about the NDA he'd signed in 2017, which had a 3-year term and was therefore expired. He thought about the fact that someone had tried to destroy this car and failed, and that whoever had done that still didn't know where the car was, and that the auction registration was public record. He thought about Emma.
He got up, washed his hands, and went to check on her homework. The call came on a Tuesday. Cole was at the shop alone, Emma at school, the door rolled up to let the morning air through before the desert heat built. He was working on one of his regular paying jobs, a '91 Porsche 964 with a failed IMS bearing that needed more attention than the job was paying for, which was a familiar situation. His phone was on the bench, unknown number.
He answered. "Mr. Bennett? " A man's voice, older, with a precision to the diction that suggested it had been trained rather than natural. "My name is Douglas Farr. I'm a legal representative for a client I'm not at liberty to name.
I'm calling to discuss a vehicle currently in your possession. " Cole set down the tool he was holding and picked up the phone properly. How did you get this number? Auction registrations are public record as I'm sure you know. What client? As I said, I'm not at liberty.
Then this conversation is going to be short. Cole kept his voice level. What do you want? A brief pause. Fara adjusted.
My client has an interest in the vehicle registered as lot 47 at the Harmon Salvage and Fleet Auction. We believe the vehicle may contain certain proprietary materials that are the subject of ongoing legal consideration. My client would like to discuss acquiring the vehicle from you at a price considerably above your purchase cost. How considerably? $120,000 paid within 48 hours of signed transfer documentation. Cole's chest did something complicated that he kept completely off his face and his voice. $120,000 was more money than Bennett Restoration had cleared in its best 2 years combined.
It was the difference between grinding forward and breathing room. It was Emma's college fund, a better shop, a house he actually owned. "I'll think about it. " he said. "Mr. Bennett, I want to be direct with you.
My client's interest in this vehicle is You said you'd be direct. Be direct. Who's your client? I'm not able to say. Then you're not being direct.
You're being strategic. " Cole paused. "I said I'll think about it. I'll have an answer for you in 72 hours. " He hung up. He sat on the shop stool for 60 seconds without moving, looking at the floor. Then he called Victoria.