by Dawn Atkins
“Maybe that’s for the best.”
“No, Dad. It’s not for the best. I don’t know why you want to kill it, and it doesn’t really matter because we need the contract. I won’t lose it if there’s any way to save it. And here’s something else. I’m leaving the company. I’ll stay until this business with the bad parts is resolved, one way or the other. I’ll see us through whatever comes of the Tesla wreck investigation. In the meantime, Victor’s going to take over most of my duties.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s been ten years, Dad. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished here. But I’m done. I need to move on. You need me to move on. You have to step up to the plate and lead the company, stop throwing stones into the works. Victor will do great in my place. Better, in fact, since he’s an engineer, too.”
“You’re that angry at me.” His father looked totally betrayed. He seemed to sink into himself. “You’d just walk out on me.”
Dylan fought the urge to rescue him, to take it back, to promise to always be there. He knew that wasn’t good for either of them. He felt the empty ache he’d felt at eighteen seeing his father so ruined. Maybe Tara had a point. Maybe he thought he had to rescue his father or lose the man’s love.
“I’m not angry. I’m just determined. It’s time, Dad. For both of us.”
“I didn’t know you were so unhappy here.”
“We both need a break from each other.”
His father looked down. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to work with.”
“No, you’re not. And maybe I put up with too much from you over the years. You can do better. You’ll have to when Victor takes over. He’s not as easygoing as I am. And you can’t afford to lose him. That’s certain.”
His father looked at him. His eyes showed hurt, but Dylan saw a flicker of acceptance. “I didn’t raise you to let people down.”
“You raised me to believe in myself, to go after my dream. And that’s what I’m doing. I love you, Dad. I respect you. You’re a brilliant engineer. This is for the best.”
“So you say,” his dad said, but there was no energy behind his mockery.
“Right now, I’m going to talk to Dale about getting the testing mess fixed, once and for all. And you’re going to change out those drive assemblies you put in my car, Candee’s car and anybody else’s car.”
“They’re not broken, Dylan. I’d bet my life on it.”
“You bet all our lives on it, Dad. You’d better hope the part on Abbott’s car wasn’t faulty or you’ve not only lost a bet, you’ve your company helped kill a man and put a woman in a coma.”
At home, a few hours later, when he dropped onto the couch with a beer, the enormity of what had happened rolled over him.
The possibility that a Ryland part might have killed Abbott Wharton was almost more than he could bear. If it were true, it might well sink the company.
It had been hard to hurt his father, to hear him say Dylan was letting him down, but the decision was right. Dylan knew that. His father would see that...or he wouldn’t. Dylan would live with it, either way. If his father quit loving him, he’d live with that, too.
And then there was Tara. Their argument and their breakup. He sighed. In some ways, that hurt most of all. He ached all over, inside and out. It hurt to breathe.
Sensing his distress, Duster hauled his arthritic bones onto the couch and rested his muzzle on Dylan’s lap, tucking his head under Dylan’s hand. He seemed to think if Dylan petted him, Dylan would feel better.
“Won’t work, pal. I don’t think I’ll feel better for a long, long time.”
Dylan and Tara had shared only two nights, but it felt like they’d said no to a lifetime together, to happiness, to a closeness he’d never known before.
Not the closeness of teenagers marveling at the wonder of being in love for the first time, but an adult intimacy, a true connection, a lifelong bond.
Too much stood between them. Too little held them together. He was almost grateful to have a work problem to focus on, anything to keep him from feeling the heartbreak that waited to plow him under.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TARA SAT BESIDE DYLAN at a small table in Wharton’s testing office. With them were Dale Danvers and Jeb Harris. Jeb and Dale knew only of the first part of the mission—to look for patterns in part failures. Tara had been able to read the serial number on one of Dylan’s engine close-ups, so they planned to look for it among the failed parts lists.
Tara glanced at Dylan. He looked as awful as she felt. His eyes were red and haunted. He was unshaven, his face gray with exhaustion. She hadn’t been able to talk to him, but she guessed his misery wasn’t just about the possibility that a Ryland part had caused the wreck.
She’d missed him terribly last night. At midnight, she’d gotten all the way to her car, ready to drive to him before she realized how foolish that would be. This wasn’t a romantic movie where you forgot all that was wrong between you and figured love would find a way. Love couldn’t find a way past a dead-end.
“You okay?” Dylan asked her. “What happened to your hand?”
She looked at the scrapes on her knuckles. “From the thorn bush.” She’d found the bumper in a thick bush and had to pull it out. It had had dents and scrapes, and streaks of light blue paint—definite signs it had been hit. She’d put a call in to the insurance agent, hoping what she’d learned from the reconstructionist and figured out herself would trigger an investigation.
“The reports on the failed devices.” Jeb set two thick notebooks of printouts on the table. Dylan took one, Dale the other. “Here’s my analysis.” Jeb presented Tara with several pages of colored graphs and charts with percentages of failures on each date for the past month. The graph showed a steady line, except for a few sharp dips.
Dylan was holding the slip of paper on which she’d written the serial number, while he scanned the report pages. After a while he traded books with Dale. When he’d finished he caught Tara’s eye and shook his head. Not so far.
“These reports only go back a month,” Dylan said to Jeb.
“We recycle every four weeks. Haven’t you got enough there?”
“I’d like to see the earlier results, when we did have a component problem. For comparison purposes.”
“It’s on the computer,” Jeb said with a sigh. “Archived.”
Dylan and Tara looked over Jeb’s shoulder as he clicked through screens.
“Also, we’d like to take a few of the failed parts to test them ourselves,” Dylan said.
Jeb shot him a glare. “I’m only tolerating this so-called review because our lawyer ordered me to. You aren’t the only people who stand by their work.”
“We know that, Jeb,” Tara said. “It will reassure the Ryland team that Wharton has nothing to hide.”
Jeb shook his head, irritated, but going along...so far. “I’ll tell Matt to hold a couple from the recycle load. He’s due to haul it out today.”
“Thanks, Jeb,” Dylan said. “We appreciate that.”
“I want this fixed as much as you do. And, for the record, I don’t buy that your father installed our rejects in any damn car that’s still on the road.”
Tara saw that as her cue. “Do you guys put Wharton batteries in your own cars, by the way?”
“Some do. We put them in free for employees. Here’s the first week,” he said, motioning at the screen for Dylan.
“Because my father had one put in his Tesla,” she continued, her heart racing. “I assume it was done here? He’s an employee, after all.” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.
“It’s possible. I didn’t see it.” He kept his attention on the screen.
Matt Sutherland stuck his head in the door. When he saw the visitors, he stiffened, which caught Tara’s attention. “What’s going on?”
“They’re reviewing our test reports,” Jeb said.
Matt blanched. What was that about? Tara got a prickl
e. She tried to catch Dylan’s eye, but he was glued to the screen.
“Grab a couple of yesterday’s duds for them,” Jeb said to Matt.
“But they’re already loaded on the truck,” he said, almost panicky.
“Then pull a few off,” Jeb said, turning to look at his assistant. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing. Stuff at home, I guess. We have an appointment this afternoon, so—”
“That’s twice this week,” Jeb snapped.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s her blood pressure. They’re worried about it. Tuesday was the hospital tour, so that was the extra time.”
“At least book the appointments on days you’re not supervising. I don’t have time to run your shifts and mine, Matt.”
“I’ll try. We’re stuck with Thursday appointments because of the doctor’s schedule.”
Thursdays. Tara felt a jolt. She looked down at the graph before her. The days with hardly any faulty parts were Thursdays. She looked at Tuesday, the day Matt had been at the hospital. A dip. Electricity sizzled through her. The high error rates took place when Matt was in charge. Could he have manipulated the tests to make Ryland look bad?
He was acting jumpy about the bad units, too.
“You know if anyone put a battery in Abbott Wharton’s car?” Jeb asked him.
“Abbott Wharton?” Now the pink in his cheeks flooded his face. “He would go to his own mechanic, wouldn’t he? Tony Carmichael? Out at Auto Angels? He does most of the e-cars in town.”
That was a lot of information, as if he was trying to shift attention away from the guilty party. Had Matt installed the part? And if he had, so what? Why hide it? Unless he knew the part was faulty....
“Carmichael didn’t do it,” Jeb said tiredly. “That’s the point.”
“Then I don’t know,” Matt said. “I need to get back to the tests.” He was gone in an instant. That had been odd. Was he just guilty about missing a shift?
Dale flipped the book closed then looked at Jeb. “I know the equipment’s off-limits, but I need to see your calibrations to get what’s going on.”
“Ah, hell. Let’s go.” Jeb Jeb’s willingness to investigate made Tara certain he’d meant it when he said he wanted this worked out. Tara and Dylan were alone in the office.
“Look at this chart,” Tara said. “There are dips in error rates whenever Matt’s off.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Every Thursday. And the Tuesday he mentioned the hospital visit?” She tapped the dip.
“Hmm. You think Matt messed with the readings? Boosted the fail rate?”
“It fits. Plus, when he saw us here, heard we were looking things over, he got upset.”
“He sure as hell didn’t want us checking the rejects,” Dylan said.
“Right. Because he knew they weren’t duds. If it’s true, then the fail rate is bogus, Dylan. There’s nothing wrong with the Ryland assembly.”
Dylan leaned back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “Damn. That would save us.” He smiled, his face cleared of worry for a few seconds. “Now how do we prove it?” He rolled closer to the desk, leaning in, giving her that jolt, making her miss him in the middle of the investigation.
“Let’s show this to Jeb,” Tara said. “Let him test the units Matt’s about to haul away for himself. That should get him on our side.”
“Jeb’s a decent guy. He’ll do the right thing.”
“So, have you checked all the numbers? Is the Tesla part there?”
“Not yet. I’ve got a few more screens to look at.” Dylan went back to the monitor, searching more numbers. After a few seconds, he said, “Damn. It’s here. From the first failed lot, back when we had bad components from our Tennessee supplier.” His face was gray, his eyes bereft of hope. “It was our part. We caused the wreck, Tara.”
“I’m sorry, Dylan. I am.” She felt sick about it.
“I hope you were serious about that crisis plan.” All his relief had been replaced by gloom.
“Don’t forget it wasn’t just the part. The car got hit from behind. We still need to find who that was.” She paused, as a thought occurred to her. “There’s something else. Matt acted weird when Jeb asked if he knew who put the part on the Tesla. I’d bet money it was Matt.”
“How do you figure?”
“He was trying to deflect the blame to Tony Carmichael, giving us too many details. That suggests he’s hiding guilt—his or someone else’s.”
“Why hide that he put on the part?”
“Because he knew it was faulty when he installed it,” she said slowly, as the realization hit her.
“But most of the rejects weren’t bad and he knows it.”
“So he did it deliberately. Why? To harm my father? I can’t believe that. It required a crash to activate the circuitry flaw.”
“Maybe he wanted to harm Ryland,” Dylan said slowly. “You saw how hostile he was during the meeting.”
“And he brought up your bad supplier the day I took the tour. He even mentioned the plant in Tennessee.”
“Yeah. But what would he get out of that? He has relatives who work for Ryland. Friends, too. If Wharton dropped us as a supplier, Wharton’s production would suffer, as well.”
“Why then?” They looked at each other, both thinking it through. “Wait a second,” she said. “I remember something. At the funeral, Faye’s assistant told me about the factory manager who got fired. She said Pescatore had told people Wharton was going to shut down the factory and outsource assembly to a plant in Kentucky. Maybe she meant Tennessee.”
“If Wharton outsourced, Matt and a hell of a lot of other people would lose their jobs. Maybe he wanted to discredit the Tennessee plant, keep Wharton from sending work there.”
“It’s a decent theory. The only way to know is to talk to Matt.”
“Why would he admit any of it?”
“Because we’ll ask the right questions at the right time in the right way.”
“This is your area, Tara. I’ll follow your lead.”
His confidence in her felt good.
Dale and Jeb returned to the office at that moment, Dale looking frustrated, Jeb triumphant. “I don’t get it,” Dale said. “The calibrations look good. I don’t know what the problem is.”
“Like I said, we stand by our work,” Jeb said.
“I need to get back, if that’s all right,” Dale said to Dylan.
“Yeah. Go ahead. We’ll keep working here for a while.”
As soon as Dale left, Dylan and Tara laid out their case for Jeb. He listened, looked at the chart, shook his head in puzzlement. “I know you’re showing me my own data, but it sounds crazy.”
“That’s why you need to grab some rejects before they get recycled and test them yourself,” Dylan said.
“Guess so.”
“We’d like to talk to Matt, if we can,” Tara said. “See if we can get him to explain his thinking. That okay with you?”
Jeb looked at them both. “I sure as hell can’t talk to him right now. I’ll tear him a new one. Tell him I said to forget the recycling for now.”
“Will do. Thanks, Jeb,” Dylan said.
“Just figure it out. We’ve got production quotas to hit.”
Tara grabbed the digital recorder she used to capture thoughts when she was driving, and handed it to Dylan. “Put this in your shirt pocket. We’ll record what he tells us.”
They spotted Matt walking into a small hangar near some panel trucks. They set off at a lope, strategizing as they went. Closer, Tara saw palettes of parts stacked beside one of the trucks.
“Go time,” she said.
Dylan turned on the recorder and they went inside and found Matt bent over, shifting crates around. “Matt?” Dylan called to him.
“Huh?” He jolted and turned, looking guilty as hell, a dusty box in his hand. “I got the part you want.” He flushed.
“No need. We’ll grab a couple from your stack outside.”
“No,” he blurted, which told Tara their theory was right. “This is what you want.” He thrust the box at Dylan.
“Because these are actually bad,” Dylan asked, “while the others are perfectly good?” Dylan was playing bad cop. Tara would show sympathy when the time felt right.
Matt flinched, his eyes darting everywhere, desperate for escape.
“You put a bad unit in Abbott’s car, didn’t you, Matt?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, his eyes going cold, his jaw locked.
“Don’t bother to lie. We can prove it.” Not true, but it clearly terrified Matt, who went white except for red blotches on his neck.
Tara’s instincts fired up. It was time for her to speak. “We know you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” she said. “Whatever you did, you did for everyone’s good, to save jobs and help people. We know you’re that kind of guy.” She spoke slowly and warmly, hoping to draw him in with her sympathy.
He softened slightly and swallowed.
“You go to the doctor with your wife, Matt, even when your boss hassles you. You’d do anything for your family. You’re a family man. I admire that. And Wharton’s your family, too. You felt like it was your duty to save them. Because family counts.” Those were the words he’d used in the electric cart that day.
His eyes shot to hers, almost proud. He was breathing fast and shallow, scared, but also strengthened by her kind description of his motives.
She didn’t speak, waiting for his confession to bubble up.
“I had to do something,” he finally said. “Pescatore said they were going to outsource assembly. He saw the proposal on the fax machine. TGR Manufacturing in Tennessee. He got fired for spilling the beans.”
His jaw muscle twitched, his eyes gleamed with fervor. “We work hard. Everybody on the line. The whole plant. We put together a good product. They wanted to go cheaper. It was Banes pushing it. I knew it would ruin us. It would ruin the whole town.”
“So you had to fix it somehow,” Tara said, urging him on.
