She was grasping for anything now, any crack, any excuse to prove that the boy she had called trash was exactly what she said he was. Eleanor looked at Fletcher. "Can you drive it?" "Yes, ma'am."
Victoria laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "He probably doesn't even have a license."
Fletcher pulled his wallet from his back pocket, took out his Illinois driver's license, held it up without a word. Valid, clean, no points. Victoria's mouth tightened. She had nothing left to throw.
"The test track," she said to Chad. "Behind the building, full circuit. I want every system engaged." Whitmore Motors had a private test loop behind the dealership, a quarter-mile strip of smooth asphalt that Victoria used for client demonstrations. Today, it would be Fletcher Caine's proving ground.
Chad drove the Pagani out of the service bay and positioned it at the start of the loop. Fletcher walked out behind him. The afternoon sun hit the ice-blue body and turned it into liquid light. The carbon fiber panels gleamed. The car looked like it was breathing.
Fletcher opened the driver's door and sat down. The cockpit wrapped around him. Alcantara, carbon fiber, machined aluminum. Everything was hand-stitched. Everything was precise.
The steering wheel alone cost more than a year of his grandfather's rent. He adjusted the mirrors, buckled in, placed his hands at 10 and 2.
The crowd gathered at the edge of the track. Victoria stood at the front, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. Eleanor stood beside her, calm as marble. Dale held up his phone, still filming. Chad had the diagnostic tablet connected via wireless link, monitoring every parameter in real time.
Fletcher pressed the start button. The V12 thundered to life. Clean, deep, no stutter. The sound rolled across the parking lot like distant thunder. He selected sport mode.
The hybrid system engaged. The e-motor hummed alongside the V12. Two power sources working in perfect harmony for the first time in over three weeks.
Fletcher released the brake. The Pagani surged forward. The acceleration was savage. Zero to 60 in three seconds flat. Fletcher felt the G-force push him into the seat.
The twin turbos spooled with a high-pitched scream. The hybrid motor added instant torque off the line. The car didn't hesitate. It launched.
He took the first corner at speed. The suspension loaded perfectly. The tires bit into the asphalt. The steering was direct, sharp, alive. He could feel every grain of the pavement through the wheel.
Halfway down the back straight, he switched to full electric mode. The V12 went silent. The e-motor took over. Smooth, silent, seamless. No lag, no fault code, no warning light.
Just clean, effortless power. He switched back to hybrid. The V12 rejoined without a hiccup. The transition was so smooth it felt like the car was one single organism rather than two systems bolted together.