The Single Dad watched the black SUV disappear.
Then the Woman looked at him.
“What aren't we seeing?”
He nodded.
“Something.”
They spent the afternoon inside the house.
The prototype was only half the mystery now.
The other half was the father.
His home office had remained nearly untouched.
Blueprint drawers filled one wall.
Shelves held engineering manuals.
Old magazines.
Scale models.
Photographs.
The Woman opened a drawer.
Receipts.
Another.
Correspondence.
The Single Dad found a locked filing cabinet.
The Woman located the key in the desk.
Inside were six thick folders labeled XR PROGRAM.
She sat down.
The first folder contained photographs.
Black-and-white factory images.
Young engineers standing beside cars covered in camouflage.
Her father was easy to identify.
Tall.
Thin.
Dark hair.
Serious face.
In one photograph he stood beside the exact car rusting outside.
Except then it was immaculate.
Deep metallic blue.
Wide stance.
Experimental wheels.
The Woman touched the picture.
“I’ve never seen him this young.”
The Single Dad sat opposite her.
“He looks happy.”
She stared.
“I don't remember him happy.”
The next folder contained test reports.
Brake temperatures.
Engine failures.
Suspension changes.
Aerodynamic notes.
The father had signed almost every page.
Then came correspondence from Kingsley management.
The XR-1 project had been cancelled abruptly.
Official reason:
Cost.
Insurance concerns.
Corporate restructuring.
But handwritten notes suggested something else.
One prototype had shown performance so far beyond the company's planned production car that management feared releasing it would make the standard model look weak.
They stripped the experimental technology.
Used parts of it later.
And ordered the prototypes destroyed.
The Woman looked toward the driveway.
“But that one wasn't destroyed.”
“No.”
“Why?”
They kept reading.
Near the bottom of the fourth folder was an internal memo.
Vehicle EXP-001 assigned to Engineering Supervisor for testing retention pending disposal.
Then, months later:
Disposition approved. Experimental shell sold to employee for nominal value under liability waiver.
Sale price:
One dollar.
The Woman laughed softly.
“My father bought it for a dollar.”
The Single Dad nodded.
“And you offered me a hundred to remove it.”
“Please stop reminding me.”
“Never.”
She almost smiled.
Then he found another document.
A legal release.
Kingsley had transferred ownership completely.
No company claim.
No return clause.
The Collector's warning about title was gone.
The Woman looked at the Single Dad.
“How much now?”