He signed.
The Female CEO smiled.
“Now can we work?”
“You’ve been working.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to stop reading.”
“Different skill.”
They began.
The chassis came first.
No aggressive cleaning.
No grinding.
No polishing.
Only careful dry removal of loose debris and high-resolution photography.
The stamp remained.
CGTR001.
The typeface matched surviving factory stamps from the same period.
Not proof.
But promising.
Next came weld patterns.
The Single Dad compared them with scanned archival photographs the company’s London office transmitted.
One showed the prototype during assembly.
The image quality was poor.
Still enough.
A reinforcement tab near the front suspension had a peculiar diagonal seam.
Same seam.
The conservation specialist whispered:
“Oh my God.”
The Female CEO looked toward the Single Dad.
He did not celebrate.
Not yet.
He had learned from his father that excitement made mechanics stupid.
You saw what you wanted.
Then built evidence around it.
He forced himself slower.
“Rear frame.”
They moved.
The rear section had been modified.
Cut.
Rewelded.
But underneath one later bracket sat an earlier mounting hole that matched the prototype’s experimental fuel tank support.
Then interior.
Pedal box.
Steering mount.
Hand-formed transmission tunnel.
Every detail added weight.
Nothing proved identity alone.
Together, the story grew.
At 7:40 p.m., the Female CEO’s assistant entered.
“The board dinner.”
The Female CEO did not look away from the car.
“Cancel.”
The assistant blinked.
“They’re already there.”
“Then they can eat.”
“You’re keynote.”
“Tell them the car delayed me.”
The assistant looked toward the filthy race car.
Then toward the Single Dad.
Clearly uncertain whether the CEO had lost perspective.
The Single Dad said:
“You should go.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because your board is waiting.”
“They wait professionally.”
“It’s still rude.”
She folded her arms.
“You want me gone?”
He smiled.
“That sounded personal.”
“It was a question.”
The Single Dad looked toward the chassis.
“No.”
The honesty surprised both of them.
He continued:
“But I don’t want to be the reason you ignore obligations.”
The Female CEO stared.
Then turned toward her assistant.
“Move the dinner here.”
The assistant looked horrified.
“Here?”
“Conference room upstairs.”
“Food downstairs.”
“Anyone who complains can leave.”
The assistant nodded.
Left.
The Single Dad laughed.
“What?”
“You solved that aggressively.”
“I solve most things aggressively.”
“I noticed.”
She stepped closer.
“Is that unattractive?”
He looked at her.