"A few things," Greg repeated, smiling. "Well, perhaps he'd like to join our engineering team." The others laughed, though not as loudly this time. Angela's cheeks warmed.
She had spent years teaching Noah to be respectful, partly because she believed in courtesy and partly because she knew how unforgiving people could be to a child who could not afford their disapproval. She bent toward him. "Baby, you need to apologize and come with me."
Noah looked up at her. "I'm sorry I interrupted," he said. Then, because he had been taught that an apology did not require pretending something untrue was true, he added, "But I still think they're fixing the wrong thing." Greg opened his mouth, ready with a sharp answer, but Victor lifted one hand. His attention had settled on the boy with an intensity that surprised even him.
"Fine," Victor said. "I want to hear him." Greg's expression tightened. "Sir, with all due respect, we've spent six months on this problem." Victor turned his head.
"I remember," he replied. "I paid the invoices." He looked back at Noah and checked his watch, more from habit than necessity. "Thirty seconds. Tell me what you've heard."
Angela's heart sank, because thirty seconds sounded less like an opportunity than the beginning of a humiliation. Noah, however, considered the time as if it were a school assignment. He stepped closer to the car and stopped well outside the work area until Greg reluctantly motioned that he could stand near the fender. He put his hands behind his back and listened to the faint clicks of cooling metal. The garage smelled of gasoline and warm oil, unfamiliar in its richness but deeply familiar in its basic language. He did not touch the car.
"May I look at the back?" he asked. Victor nodded. Noah walked around the rear quarter panel and crouched where he could see the exhaust. He studied the clean tips, the slight traces of residue, and the way the exhaust note had ended in his memory. It was not enough to prove a diagnosis, but it offered a direction. He returned to the front and looked toward the timing drive before lifting his eyes to Victor.
"The engine is trying to breathe," he said. "But its timing is wrong, or something is making the timing wrong. Air and fuel are there, and the spark is trying. The parts aren't agreeing about when." Greg snorted.
"That's not how you diagnose a historic V12." Noah nodded again, unoffended. "No, sir. It's why I'd check it. I haven't proved it yet."
That final admission, modest and exact, caught Victor more than any grand declaration could have. Every specialist who had visited the estate arrived surrounded by confidence and jargon. This child had said what he observed, explained what he suspected, and distinguished between suspicion and proof. Victor glanced at Greg. "Check the timing again," he said.