'Was it wear?' Iron Jack asked.
'I don't believe so. I found recent finishing and a concealed machined piece that isn't described in the old build records or the recent service invoices. It moved under conditions the bike should have handled normally. The surrounding steel was being damaged.'
Grip examined the piece under the lamp, his massive fingers surprisingly gentle. He turned it slowly, then looked toward the frame. 'You're telling me somebody did this on purpose.'
'I'm telling you I found an alteration that looks deliberate and creates a serious hazard. I don't know who made it, and I'd want a frame specialist to confirm my findings before accusing anybody.'
Iron Jack raised an eyebrow. 'You're being careful with your words.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Why?'
'Because my uncle said being certain doesn't make you right.'
For the first time since entering, Crowley's expression changed. His eyes moved toward the old photograph visible through the office window, and some hard association passed across his face. 'Aaron Mercer,' he said quietly. 'Your uncle was Aaron Mercer.'
Caleb nodded. He had not expected the president to know the name. Aaron had worked on motorcycles for men of every reputation, but he rarely discussed their business once they left. Caleb knew some of the chapter had used the shop long ago, before the money and attention moved toward larger dealerships, yet he had never imagined the connection would matter tonight.
'Aaron did work for us twenty years back,' Crowley said. 'He told me once that the worst thing you can do to an engine is lie about it.'
'He said that about people, too,' Caleb replied before thinking.
A faint sound came from the doorway. One of the enforcers had almost laughed and stopped himself. Grip remained silent, turning the damaged insert under the lamp. He seemed no longer angry in the same direction, which was not quite the same thing as being safe.
'Explain what happens if I ride it the way it was,' he said.
Caleb looked at the red frame and chose a description without embellishment. 'The engine cuts out at speed. The chassis has already started showing signs of stress in an important structural area. If that weakness developed into a complete failure on the highway, you might not be able to keep the motorcycle upright. I can't tell you exactly when that would happen, but I can tell you it was too dangerous to return without opening the frame.'
Grip's hand went still. The memory of two near crashes had probably been replaying in his mind for days, and now the scenes acquired a new explanation. He looked toward Iron Jack, who examined the photographs again and asked whether anyone else had seen the evidence before the frame was touched. Caleb told him about Jonah Pike, the notes, the photographs, and the plan for an independent inspection.
'You called a second man,' Crowley said.
'Yes.'
'Without us asking.'
'I wanted somebody who knew more than I do to tell me whether I was right.'