Marlene held up a hand. Before anybody touches a single bolt, I want documentation, photos, video, timestamps, every single part identified and logged as we go. If this ends up in court, I need a complete record proving exactly what was done and how it differs from whatever Precision Dine Technologies thinks they own. I can do that, Denise offered. Phone already raised.
I'm already filming for the story anyway. Might as well make it useful for both of us. Marlene studied her for a moment, weighing the reporter's presence with obvious reluctance, then nodded once. Fine, but everything gets reviewed before it airs anywhere. Understood.
Understood. Marcus looked around the garage at Dutch, steady as always. At Sal, some of his professional pride, visibly wounded, but genuinely rooting for the kid now. At Reaper arms, still crossed, but the hostility mostly drained out of his posture. At Marlene, already pulling out a legal pad to start logging everything. at Denise phone raised in recording and finally at Ethan Carter 17 years old standing in the middle of all of it without a trace of the fear that seemed to be gripping everyone twice his age.
"Do it!" Marcus said, "Fix my bike." Ethan nodded once, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work.
The first 20 minutes moved fast, faster than anything that had happened in that garage all week. Ethan worked with the quiet efficiency of someone who'd spent years learning to trust his hands more than his nerves calling out each step for Marlene's documentation as he went Denise's camera hovering close enough to catch every detail without getting in his way. First fix is the heat sensitive connection, Ethan said already stripping back a section of wiring harness with careful practice movements. This is the one that only misbehaves once the engine's warmed up so nobody running a cold diagnostic would ever catch it. How do you fix something that only breaks when it's hot?
Dutch asked genuinely curious now some of his earlier caution replaced by real interest. You don't fix the connection, you replace the material, Ethan said. Whoever built this used a standard grade wire here. Works fine most of the time, but it's got just enough resistance change under heat to throw the signal off by a fraction most equipment wouldn't even flag as unusual. He held up a spool of wire he'd pulled from a drawer in the shop.
This is what my dad uses on farm equipment that runs hot for hours at a time. Different alloy, barely more expensive. Should hold steady no matter how long the engine runs. He worked quickly, hands steady despite the audience, despite the cameras, despite the quiet murmur of the crowd still pressed against the fence outside trying to catch glimpses through the open garage door. "Done," he said 12 minutes later, tucking the new wire back into place.
That's failure one. Marcus felt something tighten in his chest. Hope and fear tangled together so tightly he couldn't tell them apart anymore. One down. Three to go, Ethan said, already moving to the next section. This next one's trickier.
The sensor timing gap took longer, nearly 40 minutes of careful, methodical work. Ethan pausing repeatedly to check readings against the laptop Salv had reluctantly offered up, muttering calculations under his breath, erasing and rewriting numbers on a scrap of paper Marlene had torn from her legal pad. "Talk to me," Marcus said at one point, unable to stay quiet any longer. The tension of watching in silence too much to bear. "What's happening?