Chapter 6 - The Price of PrideRichard wanted to keep working.
That was the first ridiculous thing he did after learning somebody might be planning his death.
The second was refusing police protection.
The third was arriving at my garage alone the next morning.
I found him sitting in the wicker chair somebody had dragged from the office, staring at the old photograph of himself and my father.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"Emily says you're supposed to have an officer with you."
"He is outside."
I looked through the window.
A plain sedan sat across the street.
"Good."
Richard nodded toward the engine I was rebuilding.
"Need help?"
I laughed.
"When's the last time you turned a wrench?"
"1997."
"Then absolutely not."
He removed his jacket.
Twenty minutes later, Richard Bennett was underneath a forty-year-old Chevrolet with grease on his expensive shirt.
It was the first time I liked him without reservation.
Not forgave.
Liked.
There was a difference.
Around noon, he said, "I owe you an apology."
"You owe several people several apologies."
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
He smiled.
Then became serious.
"I thought providing meant preventing people from suffering."
I tightened a bolt.
"Doesn't work."
"I know that now."
He told me something Emily had never mentioned.
When she was fourteen, she'd nearly died from bacterial meningitis.
Richard had been on a business trip.
By the time he reached the hospital, she was unconscious.
He had spent three days believing his daughter might die while he sat helpless beside her.
"After that, I decided money would make her safe."
I slid out from under the car.
"And did it?"
"No."
"Then why keep trying?"
"Because fathers are idiots."
I laughed.
"My dad definitely was."
"So was I."
For the first time, Richard talked about Robert without excuses.
He told me stories.
My father racing a customer's Mustang after repairing it.
My father sleeping in the garage when they couldn't afford heat at home.
My father giving free repairs to a single mother and pretending the warranty covered them.
Those stories gave me pieces of Dad that alcoholism had erased.
Then Richard said something unexpected.
"Robert was proud of you."
"I was seventeen when he died."
"He still was."
"He barely spoke to me that last year."
"He spoke to me."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Once."
Richard explained that my father had called him six weeks before dying.
They talked for twenty minutes.
Robert asked about Emily.
Then he talked about me.
"He said you were working after school. Saving for community college. He said you were better with engines than either of us."
My throat tightened.
"He never told me that."
"No."
Richard looked down.
"We wasted a lot of years refusing to say the things that mattered."
That sentence stayed with me.
So that evening, I drove to Emily's townhouse.
She opened the door wearing sweatpants and one of my old shirts.
"Everything okay?"
"No."
Her face fell.
I immediately corrected myself.
"Not bad no. Important no."
"Daniel, that sentence made absolutely no sense."
"I know."
I had rehearsed the speech twelve times.
Every word disappeared.
So I reached into my pocket.
Emily froze.
The ring wasn't impressive.
A small oval diamond.
Simple gold band.
I had sold my motorcycle to pay for it.
She stared at it.
"Daniel."
"I spent most of my life thinking I needed to become somebody before I could ask you this."
Her eyes filled.
"And?"
"And your father is annoying."
She laughed.
"Extremely."
"He made me realize something."
I took her hand.
"I don't need to promise you a perfect life. I need to promise I won't run when life isn't perfect."
Then I knelt.
"Emily Bennett, will you marry me?"
She didn't let me finish.
"Yes."
"There's technically more speech."
"Yes."
"I worked on it."
She pulled me up and kissed me.
I decided the speech could remain unfinished.
For forty-eight hours, we were happy.
Then Bennett Industrial's largest bank froze its operating line.
Payroll was due Friday.
Two hundred and sixteen employees could lose their jobs.
Richard had enough personal assets to cover one payroll.
Maybe two.
Walter had designed the theft to destroy him slowly.
At the emergency board meeting, Richard's partners demanded he resign.
Emily and I waited outside.
When he emerged, he looked exhausted.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I resigned."
Emily's mouth opened.
"Dad—"
"It's temporary."
But I knew his face.
It wasn't temporary in his mind.
Richard Bennett had built that company for most of his adult life.
Now he believed he had lost it.
Just like my father had lost the garage.
That night, Richard didn't go home.
Linda called us at midnight.
By one, police were searching.
At two thirty, I knew where he was.
I drove to Mercer Motor Works.
The lights were off.
Richard sat alone inside the first service bay.
On the concrete beside him was a bottle of bourbon.
Unopened.
He stared at it.
"My father sat in this same building after losing everything," I said.
Richard didn't look up.
"I know."
"Then don't make the same mistake."
He finally faced me.
"I ruined Robert's life."
"No."
"I helped."
"Yes."
He flinched.
"But Walter stole the money. Dad chose what he did afterward. You're responsible for your mistakes, Richard. Not everybody else's."
His eyes reddened.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now."
I sat beside him.
For once, the wealthy businessman and the broke mechanic didn't exist.
Just two men sitting on concrete.
"You start again tomorrow."
"With what?"
I looked around the garage.
"Whatever's left."
Richard gave a broken laugh.
Then my phone rang.
It was the federal investigator.
They had found Walter Crane.
But Walter wasn't alone.
He had been arrested at Columbus International Airport.
And the woman traveling with him was someone Richard knew.
Someone who had access to every original Bennett family financial record.
May you like
Linda Bennett.
Emily's mother.
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