“Let him down.”
Grip released Caleb.
Caleb straightened his shirt.
His hands were shaking.
He hated that they could see it.
Then he remembered the object on his bench.
He picked up the removed section.
Placed it beneath the fluorescent light.
“This was inside your frame.”
Grip looked at it.
“What?”
Caleb pushed it toward him.
“Don’t look at me. Look at that.”
Iron Jack moved closer.
Caleb pointed toward the machining marks.
“That wasn’t there by accident.”
Grip lifted the piece.
His expression changed.
Caleb continued before fear could stop him.
“The engine wasn’t creating the main problem.”
Iron Jack looked at him.
“Then what was?”
“The frame.”
Grip’s eyes narrowed.
Caleb explained what he had observed on the dynamometer.
At a particular highway speed, vibration reached a narrow frequency that caused the hidden alteration inside the frame to move. That movement interfered with the bike’s electrical system, producing the apparent ignition failure. Worse, repeated stress was damaging the frame itself.
Grip stared at the piece in his hand.
“How bad?”
Caleb looked directly at him.
“If you kept riding it hard, eventually the frame could fail.”
Silence.
Grip’s face emptied.
Caleb continued.
“Whoever did this understood exactly what kind of failure they wanted.”
Iron Jack took the piece from Grip.
He examined it under the light.
“How sure are you?”
“One hundred percent.”
“You’re nineteen.”
“Yes.”
“You’re telling me Donovan Hale missed this?”
“He was looking at the carburetor.”
“And Wyatt Pierce?”
“Electrical.”
Iron Jack’s expression remained unreadable.
“And you found it?”
Caleb nodded.
“Because I stopped assuming the engine was causing the vibration.”
He pointed toward the bike.
“The vibration was causing the engine problem.”
Grip sat down slowly on a wooden stool.
Caleb had not expected that.
The huge man looked suddenly older.
“How long?”
Caleb understood.
“How long before it failed?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
“Next month?”
“Maybe.”
Grip stared.
“So every time I rode it…”
“You were taking a chance.”
Iron Jack’s jaw tightened.
He held the compromised component beneath the light again.
“This isn’t normal fabrication.”
“No.”
“Recent?”
“Looks recent.”
Grip looked up.
“The paint.”
Caleb nodded.
“You said the frame was repainted last month.”
Nobody spoke.
The implication filled the shop.
Iron Jack asked:
“Who had access?”
Grip stood.
His anger was different now.
Colder.
“Fresno.”
Iron Jack’s eyes sharpened.
“The trailer?”
Grip nodded.
“Skinner helped.”
One of the senior members at the doorway shifted.
Iron Jack turned.
“Find him.”
The man nodded.
Caleb spoke immediately.
“Wait.”
Six faces turned toward him.