He had heard something similar once in a battered farm truck his father repaired at a salvage yard. The truck had been blamed for a failing ignition, but Marcus found that the real problem had begun in a component that seemed unrelated. The more the owner spent changing obvious parts, the less he listened to the pattern. Marcus had shown Noah how one problem could create several smaller symptoms, each of which sent a hurried mechanic in a different direction.
"Don't chase the loudest clue," he said. "Find the first thing that stopped being right. Everything after that may only be the echo."
Noah looked at the Ferrari through the opening between two tool cabinets. Greg turned the key again. The engine started, faltered, and died, and this time Noah noticed a tiny irregular movement near the front of the engine before the vibration faded. It was so brief he could not be certain of what he saw. He listened for a second attempt and compared the sound with the first. A subtle wobble belonged somewhere in the sequence, too faint to dominate the noise, but strong enough to disturb its rhythm.
Angela passed him with the mop, pausing just long enough to touch his shoulder. "Homework," she whispered. Noah lowered his eyes obediently. He wrote an answer in the wrong square, crossed it out, and listened again.
It was frustrating to know he had been asked to remain silent in a room where a machine sounded as if it wanted help. He had spent enough time beside adults who dismissed him to understand that being right did not automatically give him permission to speak. His father used to say that knowing something and knowing when to say it were two different skills.
At the front of the garage, Greg explained that all the usual causes had been ruled out. He had worked with vintage vehicles for twenty-six years and was not an incompetent man. His problem was that the longer he spent on the Ferrari, the harder it became to question decisions he had already defended before Victor. He had approved a replacement assembly, signed inspection documents, and assured the owner that the issue was nearly solved. When the symptoms returned, he ordered more tests rather than reopening assumptions that might make him look careless.
Victor paced, his expensive shoes squeaking faintly on the smooth floor. His father had been dead long enough for grief to lose its recognizable shape, yet this failure brought the old feeling back with startling force. Edward had possessed a patient attention that Victor spent years trying to replace with speed. At a board meeting, speed made him powerful. In a garage filled with decades-old machinery, it made him impatient and frightened, and he disliked knowing that about himself.