“What?”
He knew the name.
Everybody serious about American prototype cars knew it.
A major collector.
Auction investor.
The kind of buyer who purchased unrestored cars privately before anyone else heard about them.
“What did he say?”
The Woman opened the message.
“He can come tomorrow.”
“To haul it?”
“Apparently.”
The Single Dad looked toward the prototype.
“Cancel.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You sound very sure.”
“He won't be coming to haul trash.”
The Woman understood.
“You think he already knows?”
“I think professional collectors don't drive across states for random rusty cars.”
The next morning proved him right.
At nine-ten, a black luxury SUV stopped outside the property.
The Collector stepped out wearing an expensive casual jacket and shoes too clean for the driveway.
He smiled broadly when he saw the Woman.
Then barely acknowledged the Single Dad.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
The Collector looked toward the prototype.
His smile disappeared for one fraction of a second.
Then returned.
“Interesting old car.”
The Single Dad almost laughed.
The Collector walked around it casually.
Too casually.
He knew exactly where to look.
He checked the roofline.
Rear quarter.
Door opening.
Then his eyes moved directly toward the experimental chassis stamping.
The Single Dad noticed.
So did the Woman.
The Collector stood again.
“Honestly, it’s rough.”
The Woman folded her arms.
“How rough?”
“Very.”
“Rust everywhere.”
“Unknown mechanical condition.”
“Restoration would be enormous.”
He looked sympathetic.
“These cars cost more to restore than people realize.”
The Woman waited.
The Collector continued.
“Your attorney said you're clearing the estate quickly.”
“I could make this painless.”
The Single Dad looked away to hide a smile.
Here it came.
“I’ll buy it as-is.”
The Woman asked:
“How much?”
The Collector pretended to think.
“Seventy-five thousand.”
The Single Dad nearly choked.
The Woman remained expressionless.
“Seventy-five?”
“It’s generous.”
“For a rusted project.”
The Woman looked toward the Single Dad.
He said nothing.
The Collector noticed.
“Is he advising you?”
“He's inspecting it.”
The Collector smiled politely.
“Mechanic?”
“Yes.”
“Restoration specialist?”
“Sometimes.”
“Certified marque historian?”
The Single Dad shook his head.
“No.”
The Collector's smile widened.
“Then I’d be careful.”
The Woman's eyes narrowed.
“About what?”
“People see old cars and start telling stories.”