"Today, please." Her smile sharpened. "Ferrari North America takes these matters seriously."
The audit began that afternoon. What it revealed was devastating: 18 months of service records, $2.3 million in charges, detailed invoices for comprehensive repairs that should have solved the problem—except the original fuel line had never been touched, never inspected, never replaced. Charges for components that tested defective but were later proven functional; labor hours that didn't match actual work performed; diagnostic fees for procedures that were never conducted. The pattern was clear: either catastrophic incompetence or deliberate fraud.
Ferrari North America issued a formal complaint. Three other luxury brands initiated their own audits. Clients who had trusted Titan Automotive with irreplaceable vehicles began demanding answers. The board of directors convened an emergency meeting; Preston's father-in-law, who had secured his position 15 years ago, was notably absent. His wife, Clara, refused to take his calls.
But the service records weren't the only evidence that surfaced. Anthony Brooks had worked security at Titan Automotive for seven years; he had watched, listened, documented. The day after Raymond's diagnosis, Anthony contacted the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission.
His evidence filled three folders: emails showing qualified candidates rejected with pretextual excuses, interview notes containing discriminatory comments, a systematic pattern that blocked minorities from technical positions for over a decade.
"He called it 'maintaining standards,'" Anthony told investigators. "What he meant was maintaining the color of his staff."
The EEOC opened a formal investigation. Three former job applicants joined a potential class action lawsuit. Employment lawyers circled like sharks sensing blood.
Two weeks after Raymond Nelson diagnosed a 62-year-old fuel line, Preston Whitmore III issued a brief statement: "I have decided to step down from my position to pursue other opportunities."
There was no severance package, no farewell celebration, no letter of recommendation. His name was quietly removed from industry conferences where he had lectured about professional standards. His membership in the Automotive Excellence Council was revoked. His reputation, built on connections rather than competence, crumbled like wet paper.
But not everyone who participated in Raymond's humiliation chose the same path.
Three days after the diagnosis, Derek Sullivan appeared at Giuseppe's garage. Raymond was there, working on an old Alfa Romeo engine. Derek stood in the doorway, uncomfortable in his own skin.
"I've been turning wrenches for 16 years," he said quietly. "Thought I was good at this. Thought I understood engines." He swallowed hard. "You made me realize I forgot why I started. Got lazy. Trusted screens instead of my senses. Stopped listening."
Raymond watched him silently.
"I know I was a jerk to you. I know I don't deserve anything." Derek's voice cracked. "But would you teach me? How do you listen like you do?"