She eventually went to law school and became a family attorney.
I told her everything.
The Mercedes.
The paint.
The reflector.
The booster seat.
Chompy.
The crash data.
Rick’s account.
She became very quiet.
Then she said,
“Stop working on that car.”
She told me not to throw away a single damaged part.
Fortunately, I hadn’t.
The hood.
Bumper.
Radiator.
Wheel.
Everything was still stacked in the shop.
“You need to call the police.”
So I did.
Detective Lorraine Ramirez came to my garage with a crime-scene technician.
They photographed everything.
The silver paint.
The orange reflector.
The car seat.
The crash data.
Then Ramirez made a call.
When she returned, she told me there had indeed been a report.
At 1:45 that morning, a homeowner on Lakeshore Drive had reported someone hitting his mailbox and a parked silver Honda Accord.
He saw a dark sedan reverse and speed away.
The Honda had been totaled.
Its owner was seventy-four.
His wife needed dialysis several times a week.
Since the crash, he had been driving her to appointments in a borrowed vehicle.
Then Ramirez told me investigators had found a small amount of blood near the road.
“My son,” I said.
“Noah cut his lip.”
The detective took the crash module, the booster seat, and several damaged components as evidence.
Then she surprised me.
“Finish repairing the car.”
I stared at her.
She explained that Laura and Brent couldn’t know the police were investigating yet.
If they became suspicious, they might hide evidence.
Or disappear.
Children’s Services would quietly check on the boys.
Denise suggested one more thing.
A standard release form.
But she added a sentence.
It stated that the customer acknowledged all removed damaged components, including the crash module and stored data, had been retained by the shop and released to law enforcement where required.
Everything in that sentence was true.
Friday came.
Laura arrived at exactly five.
She brought Brent.
He inspected the Mercedes like he was looking for reasons to insult my work.
He ran a finger along the perfectly matched paint.
Then wiped that finger on my shirt as if I were a rag.
He complained about a panel gap that wasn’t uneven.
Laura said the paint looked cheap.
Then Brent picked up my invoice.
**$7,018.**
He laughed.
Dropped it onto the oily floor.
“We’re not paying.”
Then he said I should consider the experience compensation enough.
