Eleanor looked at him from across the table.
That recommendation became part of a broader workforce-integrity review.
It did not make dissent safe.
Nothing could make professional courage costless.
It made patterns visible earlier.
Isaac considered that progress.
His own life settled into a rhythm no version of him would have predicted six years earlier.
One week each month, sometimes two, he worked in Houston. The rest he spent in Harlow unless a program needed him elsewhere.
He never became comfortable with executive dining rooms.
He never stopped wearing work shirts that made security personnel glance twice at his badge.
Once, a new receptionist at a contractor facility told him deliveries belonged around back.
Isaac stood there for a second, the old memory from his twenties flickering through him.
Then a program manager arrived, embarrassed and apologetic.
Isaac waved off the apology and asked the receptionist whether the visitor process depended on clothing.
She looked horrified.
"No, sir. I just assumed."
"That's the useful part. Fix the assumption, not the embarrassment."
He went inside.
Later, the receptionist sent him a short email thanking him for not humiliating her.
Isaac saved it.
Not because he needed gratitude.
Because it reminded him that systems improved through correction more often than punishment.
Merritt Repair changed too.
Noah became an actual employee after his mother informed Isaac that payroll law did not recognize "in the way" as a job classification.
Isaac gave him a formal schedule, proper safety training, and a wage high enough that Dale accused him of ruining the local market for teenage labor.
"Pay yours better," Isaac answered.
Noah learned quickly.
He also broke things.
The first expensive mistake happened on a rebuilt transmission. He installed a seal incorrectly, and the unit leaked badly after the customer drove eight miles.
Noah looked physically ill when the truck returned.
"I'll pay for it," he said.
"With what?"
"My checks."
"For six years?"
Noah stared at the floor.
Isaac asked, "Did you hide it?"
"No."
"Did you know it was wrong and send it anyway?"
"No."
"Then fix it."
"That's it?"
"You want a speech?"
"I thought you'd fire me."
Isaac leaned against the bench.
"You made a mistake. That's expensive. Hiding mistakes is dangerous. Learn the difference."
Noah never forgot it.
Months later, when he caught Isaac entering an incorrect torque value on a routine repair sheet, he pointed it out immediately.
Isaac corrected the value.
"Good catch."
Noah grinned.
"You're not going to fire yourself?"
"Considering it."
The garage became busier as word spread, but Isaac refused to turn it into a brand.