He shook his head.
“No.”
“Imani died after an aneurysm.”
The garage seemed to become quieter.
Marcus continued.
“Nia had already been diagnosed by then.”
“So overnight I went from married engineer with a sick kid to widowed father who couldn’t miss another medical appointment.”
Victoria looked around.
“And you became a mechanic.”
Marcus nodded.
“I used to work on propulsion-control systems for aerospace research.”
Victoria stared.
“What?”
He smiled slightly.
“That’s usually the reaction.”
“You worked in aerospace?”
“For eleven years.”
“Where?”
“Several places.”
“Last one was a private contractor building control architecture for experimental flight systems.”
Victoria looked toward the Valkyrie.
“That’s why you understood this car.”
“Electricity still behaves like electricity.”
She laughed once.
“You designed systems for aircraft and now you change brake pads.”
“I’m home every night.”
That ended the argument.
Marcus held out the stuffed rabbit.
“Nia left this in the hospital once.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“Because I drove forty minutes back to get it.”
Victoria frowned.
“It’s a toy.”
“To you.”
Marcus looked at the rabbit.
“To her, it meant she could sleep.”
He met Victoria’s eyes.
“That’s when I learned value and price are not the same thing.”
Victoria looked away.
The lesson was becoming annoyingly familiar.
Marcus continued.
“You have money.”
“Security.”
“Cars.”
“Employees.”
“But right now you don’t know whether the people closest to you are safe.”
“No.”
“And you don’t know who to trust.”
“No.”
“That is what matters.”
Victoria’s voice lowered.
“I don’t know how to need help.”
Marcus gave a tired smile.
“Learn.”
She looked at him.
“That’s your solution?”
“It worked for me.”
The following Saturday, Marcus asked her to come back.
She expected another discussion about the investigation.
Instead she found an eight-year-old Black girl sitting at a picnic table behind the shop.
Nia Ellison wore a purple sweatshirt, gray leggings, and sneakers covered in silver stars.
Her hair was braided into two pigtails.
She looked small.
Paler than Victoria expected.
But the eyes were Marcus’s.
Calm.
Observant.
Completely unimpressed by wealth.
Nia looked up.
“You’re Victoria.”
Victoria glanced at Marcus.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you own the fancy blue car.”
Nia frowned.
“He said you were mean at first.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Nia.”
“What?”
Victoria laughed.
It surprised all three of them.
Nia smiled.
“You laugh different than I thought.”
“How did you think I laughed?”
“Like a villain.”
Marcus turned away to hide his smile.
Victoria sat across from Nia.
“What are you doing?”
“Good Things.”
Nia held up a notebook.
On the first page was written:
THINGS WORTH STAYING FOR
Victoria stopped.
Nia began reading.
“Dad.”
“Captain.”
“Strawberry ice cream.”
“When I don’t have blood tests.”
“Rain when I’m inside.”
“Sunny days after long rain.”
“People who remember my medicine.”
“Dogs that don’t bark at me.”
She looked up.
“What’s on yours?”
Victoria had no answer.
Nia waited.
“I don’t have a list.”
“That’s bad.”
Victoria smiled slightly.
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
“Dad says rich people have lists.”
“Usually.”
“What kind?”
“Things to buy.”
“Things to sell.”
“Things people owe them.”
Nia wrinkled her nose.
“That sounds boring.”
“It can be.”
The girl studied Victoria.
“What makes you happy?”
Victoria almost answered automatically.
Work.
Winning.
Growth.
Control.
None sounded right.
“I don’t know.”
Nia looked genuinely concerned.
Then she leaned closer.
“You should find out.”
Victoria looked toward Marcus.
He said nothing.
That afternoon changed something.
Not dramatically.
Not instantly.
Victoria did not leave the shop transformed into a warm philanthropist who suddenly loved everyone.
She still sent three angry emails before dinner.
Still criticized a presentation at nine.
Still intimidated half her executive team on Monday.
But that night she created a note on her phone.
Good Things.
The first entry came slowly.
My mother braiding my hair before school.
Victoria stared at it.
Her mother had died nineteen years earlier.
Victoria had not thought about that memory in almost a decade.
She added another.
The sound of a repaired engine starting.
Then:
People who tell me the truth even when I hate hearing it.
Then:
An eight-year-old who thinks lists should contain ice cream.
The investigation continued.
Detective Morales found irregularities in vendor access connected to Hale Dynamics’ executive garage.
A maintenance technician who had serviced Victoria’s vehicle before the fire had used falsified employment information.
Records eventually connected him indirectly to a security contractor with ties to Evan Price.
That did not prove who ordered anything.
But the circle became smaller.
Then someone broke into Rainier Street Motor Works.
They ignored a Porsche.
Ignored two Mercedes.
Ignored the cash drawer.
Went directly to Victoria’s Valkyrie.
Marcus’s precautions prevented anyone from removing or destroying the records investigators cared about.
Police arrived before much could be altered.
That night Victoria found Marcus standing outside the shop with his arms folded.
Nia was with a trusted neighbor.
Frank was talking to investigators.
Victoria approached.
“You okay?”
Marcus nodded.
“You?”
“Angry.”
“That’s your normal condition.”
“Not now, Marcus.”
He looked at her.
She softened.
“Someone came into your workplace because of me.”
“Yes.”
“They put you at risk.”
“Yes.”
“Nia—”
“Is safe.”
Victoria stopped.
Marcus stepped closer.
“You don’t get to blame yourself for everything someone else chooses to do.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
“What?”
“You blame yourself every time Nia gets sick.”
His face changed.
Victoria continued carefully.
“You think if you watch hard enough, remember every medication, check every symptom, never miss a call, you can stop anything bad from happening.”
Marcus looked away.
“You can’t.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She touched his arm.
“You know intellectually.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
He stared at her hand.
Victoria removed it.
“I’m learning that too.”
Marcus gave a faint smile.
“Look at us.”
“What?”
“Emotionally healthy.”
“Don’t push it.”
The evidence eventually pointed toward Graham Shaw.
He had spent three years positioning himself as Victoria’s natural successor.
Board members considered him calmer.
More diplomatic.
Less volatile.
Victoria had never viewed ambition as betrayal.
She expected executives to want her job.
What she had not expected was someone deciding succession could be accelerated.
Evan Price became the technical bridge.
He possessed access.
Knowledge.
Relationships with contractors.
Investigators quietly followed the connections.
Victoria wanted arrests immediately.
Detective Morales refused.
Marcus agreed with the detective.
Victoria hated them both for nearly an hour.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing reckless,” Marcus said.
“That isn’t an action.”
“It is for you.”
She stared.
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
Eventually investigators created an opportunity for whoever was trying to destroy evidence to believe critical records remained at the repair shop.
Victoria was kept away.
She complained for an entire day.
Marcus told her staying safe was part of the plan.
She accused him of becoming bossy.
He reminded her she had started their relationship by threatening his job.
“We don’t have a relationship.”
Marcus looked at her.
Victoria immediately looked away.
“That came out wrong.”
“Did it?”
“Focus.”
The confrontation happened late one evening.
Graham and Evan both appeared.
Police surveillance captured enough of their conversation and conduct to establish the connection investigators needed.
When Graham realized the situation had collapsed, panic replaced calculation.
He produced a handgun.
The operation ended in seconds.
Officers moved in.
There was shouting.
A shot struck metal near the service bay.
Evan was injured during the chaos but survived.
Graham was arrested.
Marcus emerged unhurt.
Victoria did not learn that last part until Marcus called her.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“Marcus?”
“I’m okay.”
Her knees weakened.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Nia?”
“Safe.”
“What happened?”
“It’s over.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
“Graham?”
“Arrested.”
“Evan too.”
She sat down on the edge of the hotel bed where she had been staying under police advice.
“Marcus.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever do that to me again.”
He laughed once.
“Do what?”
“Call and begin with ‘I’m okay.’”
“That is generally considered reassuring.”
“It means something happened that required reassurance.”
“Fair.”
Victoria covered her face.
Marcus’s voice softened.
“Victoria.”
“What?”
“It’s over.”
She breathed slowly.
“Can I come?”
“Give police another hour.”
“Then?”
“Then come.”
She arrived just before midnight.
Rain had stopped.
For once.
The garage doors were open, letting cold air into the shop.
Marcus stood beside the Valkyrie.
No coveralls now.
Jeans.
Gray sweatshirt.
Exhaustion in every line of his face.
Victoria walked directly toward him.
Then stopped.
She had never been good at physical affection when she had not initiated it for strategic reasons.
Marcus solved the problem.
He opened his arms.
Victoria walked into them.
She held him too tightly.
Marcus did not complain.
After a long moment, she whispered, “You scared me.”
“I know.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
She pulled back.
“Stop saying you know.”
“Okay.”
He smiled.
Victoria looked toward the car.
“Is it finally fixed?”
Marcus laughed.
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“Yes.”
“No murder attempts included?”
“Optional package removed.”
She actually laughed.
Marcus opened a cabinet.
“I have something for you.”
Victoria frowned.
“If this is another old engine part…”
“It isn’t.”
He handed her a small wooden box.
Simple walnut.
Hand-cut joints.
Brass hinge.
Victoria opened it.
Inside sat the old spark plug.
A photograph of Nia holding Captain.
A blank notebook.
A key.
And a small pendant made from interlocking metal gears.
Victoria stared.
“What is all this?”
Marcus pointed.
“Spark plug.”