George glances at me, then exhales through his nose. “How do you know there’s still a shop? ProMotive had been breathing down my neck even before you left.”
I try to keep a straight face.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
I let out a short sound. “What for?”
“Lance.”
“Eh. May have made some calls.”
He gives me that look the one he uses when he knows I’m full of shit. “Carter saw you that Sunday morning. Said you were across the street, just standing there on the pavement like you were waiting for a bus, hands in your pockets, watching the lot. Trying to look like anybody else walking past.” He pauses. “Trevor told me you spent the whole weekend at his place, that you’d been working on the fundraising remotely from Seattle for weeks before that.”
I keep my eyes on the road.
“Also had a long conversation with Adrian too,” he continues. “And Vince.”
Wonderful. My friends—paragons of loyalty, every single one of them. I don’t say anything to that, so he fills in the rest himself.
“Dolores told me the coalition application came in already written. Polished. Whoever put it together knew exactly what language they respond to and what they throw out.” He pauses. “That was you.”
I don’t confirm it. Don’t deny it either.
“You called Oscar before you even landed back in Seattle. Already had the foundation contact identified, the veteran coalition shortlisted, the timeline mapped against the buyout deadline. He said all he had to do was make the introductions because you’d already figured out who to call and in what order.”
“Oscar knows people—”
“You told him who to call, Lance. You'd already worked the whole damn thing out. Everyone else just had to pick it up and run with it.”
I look at the road.
“The private foundation summary—the one-page thing that got them to move in under thirty days—Oscar said you drafted the first version. That you knew the framing that would work because you’d looked up their previous grants and reverse-engineered what they fund. He was mostly just reading back what you’d already written.”
“I had time,” I say. “I was in Seattle, I wasn’t doing anything—”
“You were looking after your mother,” George says. “Running Hearthside’s backlog. Picking up shifts at the urgent care.” He stops. Breathes out. “You had no time. You made time.”
I swallow hard.
“Dolores also said you called her the week before the car show. Made sure the coalition’s co-sponsorship would be publicly acknowledged at the event, and that it would put them in front of exactly the businesses they’re trying to reach.”
He glances at me. “She called it a very well-reasoned call. You sold her on it.”
“I made a point.”
“Lance.” He says my name like a full stop. “The boys helped. Adrian ran the event. Vince brought the crowd. Trevor held it together on the ground. I know that. But every single piece of it started with something you’d already figured out before anyof them knew what they were doing.” He exhales. “Without the framework you laid, none of it had anywhere to go.”
“Couldn’t have done it without them,” I say finally. “I mean that.”
He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again his voice has dropped. “I never expected any of it to work out the way it did.” His thumb drums once against the wheel. “I keep thinking about that weekend. How many people showed up. Even after we—” He stops.
The car feels too small suddenly.
“Terrence manages the shop now. Grew up six blocks from the building. He used to hang around the shop as a kid watching the mechanics work.”
George’s mouth shifts slightly, not quite a smile. “Started bringing his son around too. Been running his own setup out of a rented bay for years, so I know I can trust him. The programs, the staff—it’s all still there.” There’s a bit of energy in his voice now. “Terrence has VA contacts. He plans to expand the apprenticeship side.”
He drums his thumb once against the stick.
