"Mr. Sterling!"
"Please sit down."
She remained standing.
"I didn't know you were coming in here."
"Neither did I, until I smelled coffee."
Emily smiled nervously.
"The machine isn't very good."
"I've spent most of my life drinking coffee from machines that should probably have been illegal."
She laughed.
Walter took a seat across from her.
"May I?"
"Of course."
He placed two paper cups on the table.
"One for you."
"Thank you."
For a while, they sat in comfortable silence.
Walter noticed the book beside her lunch.
It was a biography of an early American inventor.
"Interested in engineering?" he asked.
Emily glanced down.
"A little."
"Only a little?"
She smiled.
"Actually, quite a lot."
"Then why are you working at reception?"
Her smile faded.
"Life happened."
Walter waited.
Emily looked at the coffee cup in her hands.
"I studied mechanical engineering at Ohio State. I finished three years."
"Why not four?"
"My mother got sick."
"I'm sorry."
"She needed help. My grandfather was already retired, and we didn't have much money."
Walter nodded.
"So you came home."
"Yes."
"And now?"
"My mother is doing better. But tuition is expensive, and I've been trying to save enough to go back."
"What kind of engineering interests you?"
"Vehicle dynamics. Suspension systems. Materials."
Walter raised an eyebrow.
"Those are very specific interests."
Emily laughed.
"My grandfather taught me how to rebuild a carburetor when I was eleven. By fourteen, I knew how to strip an engine. By sixteen, I was helping him restore old motorcycles."
Walter watched her with growing amazement.
"Did he ever tell you about the first Sterling Crown?"
"Sometimes."
"What did he say?"
Emily thought for a moment.
"He said it was the ugliest motorcycle he'd ever seen."
Walter burst out laughing.
It was a deep, genuine laugh, startling enough that Emily looked surprised.
"He said that?"
"All the time."
Walter wiped his eyes.
"He wasn't wrong."
Emily smiled.
"He also said it was the best machine he ever helped build."
Walter's laughter faded.
He lowered his gaze.
"That sounds more like Tommy."
Emily leaned forward.
"Mr. Sterling, can I ask you something?"
"Certainly."
"Why did my grandfather leave the company?"
Walter became still.
The question struck him harder than he expected.
"What did he tell you?"
Emily hesitated.
"Not much."
"Nothing?"
"He always said that sometimes people can love the same dream and still lose their way."
Walter looked toward the window.
For twenty years, he had believed that Thomas Carter had walked away because he could no longer forgive Walter for an accident that had nearly killed them both.
They had fought in a hospital room.
Words had been said that neither could take back.
And when Tommy left, Walter had allowed pride to keep them apart.
He had written letters over the years.
Most had gone unanswered.
When Tommy died, Walter had attended the funeral from a distance, standing beneath a tree at the edge of the cemetery because he could not bring himself to face the family of the man he believed he had betrayed.
Now he was sitting across from Tommy's granddaughter.
And she was asking him the question he had spent twenty years avoiding.
"Your grandfather," Walter said slowly, "was my closest friend."
Emily nodded.
"I know."
"We started with nothing."
"He told me."
"We argued about everything. Engines. Materials. Money. Whether the shop needed a better roof or another welding machine."
Emily smiled.
"That sounds like him."
Walter nodded.
"Tommy could be stubborn."
"He was."
"So could I."
Emily did not respond.
Walter looked directly at her.
"There was an accident."
She grew serious.
"I know."
"What did he tell you about it?"
"Only that someone got hurt. That the company changed afterward."
Walter swallowed.
"I was testing a new motorcycle. An experimental touring model. Tommy had helped redesign the rear frame."
Emily listened closely.
"Something failed during the test. I lost control. The motorcycle hit a barrier."
"Were you badly hurt?"
Walter looked down at his right leg.
"Badly enough."
Emily's eyes followed his.
Until then, she had not noticed the way he favored one side when he walked.
"Tommy was blamed," Walter continued. "Not publicly. Never publicly. But the investigation suggested that someone had incorrectly installed a critical component."
"Grandpa?"
Walter nodded.
"He was responsible for the assembly."
Emily stared at him.
"That doesn't sound like him."
"I know."
"Then why did you believe it?"
Walter looked at her for a long moment.
"Because I was frightened. Angry. In pain. And someone I trusted told me it was true."
"Who?"
Walter hesitated.
"Arthur Bell."
Emily frowned.
"The chief operating officer?"
"Yes."
She looked down at her hands.
Then she said something Walter would remember for the rest of his life.
"My grandfather always said the person who tells you who to blame is sometimes the person you should be watching."
Walter felt something shift inside him.
"What else did he say?"
Emily thought carefully.
"He said a good mechanic doesn't guess what broke. He finds out why."
Walter stared at her.
For a moment, it was as though Tommy himself were sitting across the table.
Then Emily reached into her bag.
"Actually, there's something I wanted to show you."
She removed a small leather wallet.
Inside was an old photograph.
Two young men stood beside a motorcycle outside a garage.
One was Walter.
The other was Tommy.
On the back, written in faded ink, were six words.
Never forget who built the road.
Walter held the photograph in trembling hands.
He remembered the day it had been taken.
The motorcycle had barely started.
The engine had coughed, rattled, and died twice.
Tommy had kicked a toolbox across the workshop.
Samuel had laughed so hard he nearly fell over.
And then, on the third attempt, the engine had roared to life.
For a few glorious seconds, the whole world had seemed possible.
Walter handed the photograph back.
"Where did you find that?"
"My grandfather kept it in his desk."
"Did he leave you anything else?"
Emily nodded.
"His tools. Some drawings. Boxes of old papers."
Walter's heart quickened.
"Drawings?"
"Yes."
"Do you still have them?"
"Most of them. They're in our garage."
Walter leaned forward.
"Emily, I know this may sound strange, but would you be willing to let me see them?"
She looked surprised.
"Of course."
"Today?"
Emily hesitated.