“You've found something.”
Ethan didn't answer.
Rex stepped closer.
“You're wasting your time.”
“Why?”
“Because that bike is dead.”
“It isn't.”
“You've been here less than two days.”
“And you've been wrong about it for twenty years.”
Rex's eyes hardened.
Ethan saw it.
The flash.
The wound underneath the anger.
“Who was Victor Ryder to you?”
Rex looked away.
“My best friend.”
“What happened?”
“My brother died.”
Ethan waited.
Rex finally spoke.
“His name was Danny.”
Twenty-two years earlier, Danny had been twenty-four.
He was the youngest member the club had ever patched in.
He loved motorcycles.
Loved speed.
Loved Victor.
Victor had taken him on a mountain run.
A dangerous route.
Devil's Pass.
Danny's motorcycle went over a switchback.
Victor survived.
Danny didn't.
Rex had blamed Victor.
For years.
“You told everyone Victor was responsible,” Ethan said.
“I believed he was.”
“And the sabotage?”
Rex went silent.
Ethan looked at him.
“What sabotage?”
Rex didn't answer.
“You know what I'm talking about.”
“I don't.”
“You just lied.”
Rex's expression changed.
Then he stepped closer.
“You don't know anything about this club.”
“No.”
“But I know engines.”
“So do I.”
Rex stared at him.
“You really are his son.”
Ethan didn't move.
“You have his eyes.”
Rex turned away.
“Get out.”
“No.”
“You should.”
“I won't.”
Rex's voice became quiet.
“You don't know what you're asking for.”
“I know exactly what I'm asking for.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
Rex looked at him.
Then walked out.
Ethan returned to the engine.
Twenty minutes later, he found something else.
A hairline crack.
Not caused by age.
Not caused by stress.
Cut into the metal.
Deliberately.
Someone had prepared the part to fail under maximum pressure.
If Ethan had installed it, the engine would have destroyed itself.
He stared at it.
Then he understood.
The sabotage wasn't historical.
It was ongoing.
Someone knew he was close.
Someone was watching him.
And that someone wanted the Harley dead.
What Rex Had Done
That evening, Rex returned.
This time he came alone.
“You found the cracked part.”
Ethan looked at him.
“Yes.”
Rex closed the door.
“I put it there.”
The confession was so simple that Ethan almost didn't understand it.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rex sat down.
“My brother.”
Ethan waited.
Rex stared at the floor.
“Danny died because of Victor.”
“You're certain?”
“I was.”
“That's different.”
Rex looked up.
“What?”
“You said you were.”
Rex's eyes narrowed.
Ethan pulled out the blueprint.
“I found this.”
Rex looked at the page.
Then Ethan showed him another section.
A note written by Victor.
Rex read it.
His face collapsed.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The note described Danny.
Victor had written that he blamed himself.
He had been pushing Danny too hard.
He had encouraged him to take risks.
He had told himself that Danny was ready.
Victor had been wrong.
And he had carried that guilt every day afterward.
Rex's hands shook.
“He never told me.”
“He couldn't.”
“He should have.”
“Maybe.”
Rex looked at Ethan.
“Why didn't he?”
Ethan answered quietly.
“Because some men don't know how to apologize when the apology can't change what happened.”
Rex closed his eyes.
For twenty-two years, he had carried anger.
He had destroyed parts.
He had delayed repairs.
He had convinced himself the motorcycle was cursed.
But the truth was simpler.
He had needed Victor to be guilty.
Because if Victor was guilty, then Rex's anger had a purpose.
If it had simply been an accident, then Rex had spent twenty-two years fighting something that could never be defeated.
“You sabotaged the bike for eight years.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rex looked at the Harley.
“Because it was the last thing Victor loved more than the road.”
Ethan stared at him.
“And destroying it felt like hurting him.”
Rex nodded.
“But he was already dead.”
“Yes.”
“That means you were hurting yourself.”
Rex's eyes filled.
He looked away.
“I know.”
Silence.
Finally Rex stood.