He had long ago learned that expensive emergencies attracted people who narrated the emergency instead of touching anything.
He tightened a hidden hose clamp behind the pickup intake.
Checked pressure.
Good.
Then reassembled the air box.
The Garage Owner approached again.
“Done?”
“Almost.”
“You’ve got people waiting.”
“I’ve got a customer waiting too.”
“That car over there is worth more than this building.”
The Single Dad looked toward the prototype.
Then toward the landscaper’s truck.
“Doesn’t make this one less broken.”
The Garage Owner stared for a second.
Then shook his head.
“Five minutes.”
The Single Dad started the pickup.
Stable idle.
No leak.
He lowered the hood.
The landscaper had been sitting near the office watching anxiously.
The Single Dad walked toward him.
“Found a second leak.”
The man’s face fell.
“How much?”
“Covered.”
“What?”
“Same labor.”
“I already had it apart.”
The man looked relieved.
Then suspicious.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
The Single Dad handed him the keys.
“Don’t tow anything heavy for a day.”
“Check the coolant tomorrow morning.”
“And if the temperature gauge moves, stop.”
The landscaper shook his hand.
“Thank you.”
The Single Dad nodded.
He turned.
The CEO was watching.
He did not know why.
He assumed rich people liked seeing bills reduced because the concept was novel.
He picked up his tools and walked toward Bay Three.
The Senior Engineer blocked him.
“We’re not authorizing outside intervention yet.”
The Garage Owner stopped beside him.
“This is my shop.”
The Engineer looked irritated.
“This vehicle uses unreleased architecture.”
The Single Dad placed his toolbox on the floor.
“Then why bring it here?”
“We needed indoor diagnostic space.”
“So diagnose it.”
The Engineer stared.
The Garage Owner closed his eyes.
“Try not to make friends.”
The Single Dad ignored him.
The CEO approached.
Up close, she was even more striking.
Her expression was not.
“You work here?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certified on this platform?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Then why are you standing beside a confidential prototype?”
The Single Dad looked at the open hood.
“Because everybody else is staring at it.”
One technician coughed to hide a laugh.
The CEO turned her eyes toward him.
Silence returned.
Then she looked back at the Single Dad.
“What is your specialization?”
“Whatever comes through the door.”
“That is not a specialization.”
“No.”
“Which is why it works.”
The Garage Owner stepped in.
“He handles electrical diagnostics.”
The CEO looked toward the Single Dad’s black T-shirt and grease-stained arms.
“This?”
The Single Dad smiled faintly.
“Yes.”
The Senior Engineer spoke.
“We have factory diagnostic software.”
“Full development access.”
“Three engineers from the propulsion team.”
“We don’t need a general repair mechanic probing a prototype.”
The Single Dad looked at the scan display.
Then the fault log.
“Okay.”
He picked up his toolbox.
The CEO frowned.
“You’re leaving?”
“I was told I’m not needed.”