But his voice cracked slightly on the word, and everyone in that garage heard it. "Is it?" Denise asked, and there was no accusation in her voice. Just the flat, careful neutrality of someone whose job was to ask the question, everyone else was too afraid to because the company making the claim says they have documentation. And if this is true, Marcus, if any part of this engine came from patented technology, you didn't have the rights to use that reward isn't just paused.
This whole bike could get seized before your kid mechanic ever gets the chance to prove himself right. Every eye in the garage turned toward Ethan Carter, who stood beside a motorcycle. He'd finally, after four impossible days, learned to understand, and who now had no idea whether he'd ever get the chance to actually fix it at all. Marcus snatched the phone out of Denise's hand before she could stop him. And the words on the screen hit him harder than the engine dying under them ever had.
Breaking: Precision Dine Technologies alleges stolen patents in Hells Angels Black Phantom motorcycle. Company seeking immediate injunction. This is garbage, Marcus said. But his hands weren't steady and everyone close enough to see them noticed. Who's Precision Dine Technologies?
Dutch asked, reading over his shoulder. I don't know. Marcus scrolled, his jaw tightening with every line. I've never heard of them. Well, they've heard of you, Denise said.
Their lawyer's already given a statement. They're claiming the fuel injection housing on that engine was reverse engineered from a patent they filed 4 years ago. If that's true, Marcus, this isn't just embarrassing, it's a federal case. "Oh, come on." Reaper stepped forward.
And for the first time all week, the satisfaction in his voice wasn't about being right. It was about something closer to fear finally breaking through. You built this thing with parts from four different suppliers over eight years. Marcus, you're telling me you can vouch for every single piece of that engine, every fabricator, every subcontractor, every guy who ever touched a lathe for you. I vetted every supplier we used.
Did you Reaper's voice climbed or did you trust Ricky Delgado's word when he brought you that injection housing 5 years ago and told you it was custom fabricated? Because I remember that conversation, Marcus. I was standing right there and I remember you not asking a lot of questions because the part worked and the price was good. The garage had gone completely still. Ethan, still standing beside the Black Phantom with a multimeter in one hand watched the color drain slowly out of Marcus Hail's face. watched a man who'd spent four days fighting a mechanical mystery suddenly confront something far more dangerous.
A legal one with lawyers instead of wrenches in consequences that had nothing to do with 60 seconds of engine time. "Where's Ricky now?" Marcus asked quietly. "Nobody's heard from Ricky in 2 years," Dutch said. "He left the state after that mess with the Sonora riders."
"Perfect," Marcus muttered. "Perfect timing for the one guy who could clear this up to be unreachable. Denise, who'd been watching the exchange with the sharp, careful attention of someone building a story in real time, cleared her throat. "There's more. There's always more," Marcus said, bracing.