'You cut my frame,' Grip repeated, each word quieter than the one before. 'This motorcycle was built before you were born, before your uncle opened this place, and before some of the men outside learned to ride. You took it apart without asking me.'
Caleb swallowed. 'I tried calling. I sent a message. You didn't answer.'
Grip advanced in a single stride and caught Caleb by the front of his stained work shirt. The sudden movement lifted Caleb onto his toes and drove his back against the edge of the bench. A tray of sockets rattled, and a wrench fell to the floor with a sharp metallic strike. Caleb felt the man's grip constrict the cloth across his chest and fought the urge to twist away.
'You trying to sell my parts?' Grip demanded. 'You think I'm too stupid to know what you're doing?'
'No.' Caleb could barely get enough breath for the word. 'I kept every part. Nothing is missing. Please look at the evidence.'
Grip brought his face close, his expression fierce enough to make Caleb stop breathing for a moment. He had threatened Caleb hours earlier, but this was the first time the violence had become physical. Caleb saw in the man's eyes a mixture of panic and rage that made him more dangerous than simple anger would have done. Grip believed he had trusted a stranger with the machine that defined part of his life, and now that trust looked like a catastrophic error.
'Put him down, Silas.'
Iron Jack's voice came from behind them. It was not loud, yet every man in the bay heard it. Grip hesitated before releasing Caleb, the obedience revealing a hierarchy more absolute than the patches alone could have conveyed. Caleb stumbled against the bench, caught himself, and forced his hands to remain visible.
'We came to see a motorcycle,' Iron Jack said. 'So let's see what the kid has.'
Grip pointed toward the dismantled machine. 'There it is.'
'I can see that,' Crowley replied. 'I'm asking what he found.'
Caleb took the opportunity before his courage could disappear. He walked to the clean end of the workbench, uncovered the damaged insert, and slid his notebook beside it. He indicated the photographs rather than waving the metal around. The older men gathered close enough to see, and the raw fluorescent light made the defects visible in a way the low sunlight had not.
'When the bike got into a narrow speed range, the chassis began moving in a way it shouldn't,' Caleb explained. 'That movement affected wiring routed through the structure and caused the ignition to break up. But the wiring wasn't the first problem. This was.'
He pointed to the altered frame section in a photograph taken before he disturbed it. Then he pointed to the corresponding area on the bare chassis, where the fresh repair work stood out under the light. He kept his language careful, describing observations separately from conclusions. The distinction mattered because the men before him were accustomed to treating suspicion as certainty.