A memory. His grandfather's voice. " What are you here?" Fletcher picked up a wrench. And he got back to work.
He had been working on the Camaro ever since. Two years of slow progress, buying parts when he could afford them, improvising when he couldn't. The turbo actuator was the last piece he needed to bring the engine to life. The one part he couldn't fabricate in a home garage. That's why he walked into Whitmore Motors on a Tuesday afternoon with $20 and grease under his fingernails.
Not to prove anything. Not to impress anyone. Just to finish what his grandfather started. He never expected to find a $2 million car with a problem he had already solved a hundred times in his head. Victoria opened her mouth to respond, but the front doors swung open first.
Eleanor Ashford walked in like she owned the building. Silver hair swept back. A charcoal cashmere coat over a white silk blouse. No jewelry except a single watch. A Patek Philippe that cost more than the McLaren in the corner.
She was 71 years old and moved like a woman who had never once waited for permission to enter a room. Two things happened at the same time. Victoria's face shifted from fury to fear. And every employee in the showroom stood up straighter. Eleanor Ashford was not just a client.
She was the client. Four Paganis, two Bugattis, a Koenigsegg Jesko. Her late husband, Richard Ashford, had built one of the largest private equity firms in the Midwest. When he died, Eleanor didn't sell. She expanded.
The Ashford Trust now managed north of $2 billion. And Eleanor's personal car collection, 46 vehicles insured for over 90 million, was one of the most respected in the world. She walked past the reception desk without stopping, past the lounge, past the champagne, straight to the service bay window. She looked at the Pagani, then at Chad, then at Todd, then at Victoria. Is my car running?
Victoria smoothed her blazer. Mrs. Ashford, we're making excellent progress. Is it running? Yes or no? Not yet, but our team Your team has had 3 weeks.
Eleanor's voice was quiet, but it carried like a blade. I gave you two factory engineers. I gave you a deadline. And I walk in here to find the same car on the same lift with the same hood open. She paused.
What exactly am I paying you for, Victoria? Victoria's hands trembled behind her back. She clasped them together to hide it. The powertrain issue is more complex than we initially I heard something interesting when I walked in. Eleanor turned and looked directly at Fletcher.
This young man said he knows what's wrong with my car. The showroom held its breath. Victoria almost laughed. Mrs. Ashford, with all due respect, this is a trespasser. He walked in off the street.
He has no credentials, no training, no business being anywhere near your vehicle. Eleanor studied Fletcher for a long moment. His stained jacket, his worn boots, his steady eyes. " What's your name?" she asked.