Rosa arranged to include the note in a formal complaint to an oversight office that was not controlled by Sutcliffe. She told Clayton to avoid touching it further and not to speculate about the sender in public. Clayton taped a photograph of the note to his office wall, leaving the original sealed for review. Sherman looked at it and remembered a brick someone had thrown through Ambrose's front window in the early years.
"Your daddy kept that brick as a paperweight," Sherman said. "He said it reminded him that somebody was afraid of him being open. This is a cheaper brick. At least nobody has to pay for glass."
The joke made Clayton smile, but the fear beneath it did not go away. His daughter attended school only a few miles from the shop. Erica sometimes drove home after midnight. Clayton told them about the note, arranged for Jaylen to walk to his car with another employee after late shifts, and installed additional lighting around the rear office. He wanted precautions that protected people without turning every ordinary evening into a rehearsal for danger.
Friday brought the first solid change in the bank dispute. Kendra called to say the risk committee had requested the original source documentation underlying the police report. She had also asked the bank's compliance officer whether a member of the advisory board had participated in or influenced the decision to freeze Reed's line. She could not yet answer Clayton's questions, but she had put them in a formal review instead of leaving them in a private conversation by the teller line.
"I should have asked the right questions before the line went on hold," she admitted. "I can't undo the missed deliveries, Mr. Reed. But I can make sure the board sees the actual account history and the deficiencies in the report it received."
"That's more useful than telling me you personally believe I'm innocent," Clayton answered. "I'd like everything in writing when the review finishes."
On Saturday, October 10, Jaylen came into the office waving his phone. A wholesale auto auction in Indianapolis had listed a charcoal-gray sedan for sale, consigned by Peton Motors. The photographs showed a dealer display plate and a vehicle description matching the car in the sunrise video. Lot thirty-eight would run that afternoon.
Clayton checked the listing, called the auction to confirm its public inspection rules for licensed dealers, and took Jaylen with him. He carried his notebook, the partial plate, and his normal dealer credentials. Rosa told them to photograph only records and vehicles they were entitled to inspect, not to confront people or interfere with a sale.
The auction building seemed enormous to Jaylen. Eight lanes ran beneath bright industrial lights while auctioneers called prices so quickly that ordinary speech sounded slow by comparison. The air smelled of tire rubber, coffee, and wet pavement. Cars rolled through one after another while dealers raised numbered cards almost without looking up from their phones.