They called Leonard. He answered on the fifth ring, breathless, as though he had hurried across the house. When Leah introduced Nathaniel, there was a long pause.
"Nathaniel Reed? The name on the building?"
"That's me," Nathaniel said.
"Well, I suppose you've come to tell me I signed something I shouldn't have."
"No, Mr. Finch. I've come to ask what happened. And I'd like to start by apologizing for the fact that it took so long for someone to ask."
Leonard was silent. In the background, a woman called his name and asked whether the kettle was on. He answered her gently, told her he'd be there in a moment, then returned to the call.
"I've got every paper they gave me," he said. "I haven't thrown away a thing."
"Good. Are you able to come in? If not, I can come to you."
"You'd come to my house?"
"If you'd welcome me."
Leonard hesitated, embarrassed by the thought of a wealthy stranger seeing the worn furniture and the buckets beneath his leaking ceiling. "I could drive over tomorrow."
"Then we'll see you tomorrow. And bring anyone you'd like to help you."
The old man's voice became softer. "My daughter will come. She keeps track of the papers."
"That sounds sensible."
When the call ended, Leah rubbed her palms against her trousers.
"You made him happy," she said.
Nathaniel shook his head. "I made him a promise to pay attention. Happiness will depend on what we do next."
By early afternoon, his son Julian had learned about the visit.
Julian Reed was fifty-two, handsome in the polished and distracted manner of an executive who moved through airports with his mind still inside conference rooms. He had inherited his mother's eyes and his father's stubbornness, though neither parent would have described the combination as a gift. As chief executive, he oversaw the group's operations, acquisitions, and financing. The group had expanded significantly under his leadership, acquiring dealerships in Kentucky, Michigan, and Pennsylvania and establishing a lucrative division devoted to high-end used cars. Investors adored him. The company's technicians were less certain. Many felt its old promise of straightforward dealing was gradually being replaced by targets and procedures that had little to do with repairing or selling a reliable vehicle.
Julian called from Cincinnati, where he was meeting a banking consortium.
"Dad, what are you doing in Columbus?"
"Visiting a dealership."
"Without telling anyone."
"That's generally what makes a visit unannounced."
"This isn't funny. Sofia says you're looking into old transactions."
"I am."
"We have people who handle complaints."
"Then I'm glad I found one the complaints didn't reach."
Julian exhaled. "You don't understand how complex the business has become."
Nathaniel looked at the photograph of the original garage. "I understand it's become too complex to explain a man receiving a bill for a truck he no longer owns."
"If there's an error, we'll correct it. But you can't walk in and undermine the managers every time something goes wrong."
"I haven't undermined anyone. I've asked questions."
"Questions from you have consequences. People panic. Rumors start. Investors—"
"Tell me something, Julian. When did we start worrying more about investors hearing questions than customers asking them?"
His son fell silent.
Nathaniel regretted the sharpness immediately. He had been trying for years to bridge the strange distance between them, the distance created by a business that was simultaneously the family's greatest achievement and the subject they could no longer discuss without quarreling. Julian had earned his position, despite what critics said. He worked relentlessly, negotiated skillfully, and had rescued several struggling acquisitions that might otherwise have failed. But he had become so accustomed to measuring performance through financial statements that his father sometimes felt he was speaking a language his son no longer recognized.
"I'll come down tonight," Julian said.
"You don't have to."
"I think I do."
After the call, Nathaniel sat alone for a few minutes. His knees were aching from the morning's walk. He thought of Rose and how she would have handled Julian. She had never tried to win an argument by being right. She wanted to know what frightened the person on the other side of the table. Nathaniel looked toward the door and wondered when he had stopped asking what frightened his son.
In the hallway, Grant Pike was speaking to Damian Cross.
"What did you tell him?" Grant demanded.
"Nothing," Damian snapped. "He asked to see the blue car. I told him we had procedures."
"You told the owner he wasn't qualified?"
"I didn't know who he was."
Grant stared at him with open contempt. "That's the problem, genius. You never know who's watching."
Damian looked away. "He's upstairs with Sofia. Leah's in there too."
Grant's expression sharpened. "Leah? Why?"