CHAPTER 5 — THE VIDEO THEY THOUGHT WAS GONE
CHAPTER 5 — THE VIDEO THEY THOUGHT WAS GONE
Mason stared at the laptop screen.
The timestamp in the corner flickered.
March 18 — 8:42 p.m.
The image was grainy, but the voices were unmistakable.
Harrison Hartwell stood at the head of the boardroom table, one hand pressed against a stack of engineering reports.
His face was red with anger.
“You're asking me to destroy eight years of work.”
No one answered.
“You're asking me to lie to my engineers.”
A different voice finally spoke.
“It isn't lying.”
“It absolutely is.”
Mason leaned closer.
He recognized the second voice.
Richard Sloan.
The recording continued.
Richard folded his arms.
“The racing division has become too expensive.”
Harrison shook his head.
“The racing division built this company.”
“It no longer fits our strategy.”
“You don't abandon excellence because a spreadsheet tells you to.”
Another executive interrupted.
“With respect, Harrison, the board has already voted.”
Harrison looked around the room.
“You voted without opening the final test reports?”
Silence.
“You never even looked?”
Still nothing.
He laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he couldn't believe it.
“You're about to throw away the only engine we've ever built that can beat the Europeans over twenty-four hours.”
Richard replied coldly.
“Then history will never know.”
The video ended abruptly.
Mason sat back.
Walt slowly removed his glasses.
“I remember that meeting.”
“You were there?”
“No.”
“But Harrison called me afterward.”
“What did he say?”
Walt looked toward the six engines.
“He said…”
Walt swallowed.
“‘If anything happens to me, make sure Mason gets the truth.’”
Across the state...
Vivian couldn't stop thinking about her father's journal.
She requested the official minutes from the March 18 board meeting.
Within fifteen minutes, they arrived.
She frowned immediately.
Only two pages.
Routine financial discussion.
Budget approvals.
Adjourned.
Nothing else.
No argument.
No mention of Project P7.
No disagreement.
It read like the most boring meeting in company history.
Yet Harrison's journal described one of the biggest fights of his career.
Someone had rewritten the official record.
“Who prepared these minutes?”
Vivian asked.
Her assistant checked the file.
“They were submitted by Richard Sloan's office.”
Vivian slowly closed the folder.
“Get me every security backup from that week.”
The assistant hesitated.
“There aren't any.”
“Why?”
“They were... deleted.”
“Deleted?”
“According to IT, yes.”
Vivian's voice became dangerously calm.
“Call IT.”
At Cole's Garage...
Sarah Nguyen returned before sunset.
She looked nervous.
“I need to show you something.”
She placed a sealed envelope on Mason's workbench.
Inside were performance reports from the Phoenix program.
Every failed engine.
Every destroyed prototype.
Every overheating incident.
Mason flipped through the pages.
Then stopped.
“This test…”
Sarah nodded.
“What about it?”
“The numbers aren't real.”
She frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“These temperature readings were edited.”
“You're sure?”
Mason pointed to the graph.
“No engine fails like this.”
He grabbed a pencil.
“See here?”
Sarah leaned closer.
“The data jumps exactly ten degrees between samples.”
“So?”
“Real heat doesn't.”
Her eyes widened.
“You're saying someone changed the results?”
Mason nodded.
“They wanted the engine to look worse than it actually was.”
That evening...
Vivian finally met with the head of Information Technology.
“Can deleted security footage be recovered?”
The man shifted uncomfortably.
“Normally... yes.”
“But?”
“The request to permanently erase those files came from the executive committee.”
“Signed by?”
He slid a document across the desk.
Vivian stared at the signature.
Richard Sloan.
Authorized.
Approved.
Completed.
Three months before Harrison's death.
For the first time since becoming CEO...
Vivian felt afraid.
Not for the company.
For the truth.
How much of what she believed had been manufactured?
How many decisions had been based on lies?
And why had her father trusted Mason instead of the people sitting around her boardroom table?
The next morning...
Cole's Garage received another visitor.
This one arrived in an old blue pickup.
A white-haired man stepped out wearing a faded Hartwell Racing jacket.
“Mason?”
“Yes?”
The man smiled.
“You probably don't remember me.”
“Might help if you tell me your name.”
“Frank Delaney.”
Mason's eyes widened.
“The dyno operator?”
Frank laughed.
“Thirty-five years.”
“I retired after your last race program.”
They shook hands.
Frank reached into the truck and carefully lifted out a dusty metal case.
“I've been keeping this.”
“For me?”
“For the right day.”
Inside were dozens of backup disks.
Dyno logs.
Engine maps.
Fuel calibration files.
Every final test from Project P7.
Frank smiled.
“Harrison told me never to throw them away.”
Mason looked speechless.
“You kept all this?”
“I figured someday somebody honest would need it.”
Late that afternoon...
Vivian's phone rang.
It was Harold Jenkins.
“I've found something.”
“What?”
“A clause in your father's will.”
“There wasn't one.”
“There was.”
“What does it say?”
Harold read it slowly.
“If Project P7 is ever proven successful, the lead engineer shall retain permanent recognition as its creator, and no executive may claim ownership of its design.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
“Mason.”
“Yes.”
“My father protected him... even after he left.”
Harold answered quietly.
“He never stopped believing Mason would finish what they started.”
As dusk settled over Hendersonville, Mason inserted Frank's oldest backup disk into his computer.
Hundreds of engineering files appeared.
Near the bottom of the directory was one folder he had never seen before.
Its name froze him in place.
FOR VIVIAN — OPEN ONLY IF I DON'T MAKE IT.
The folder had been created by Harrison Hartwell...
May you like
Just six days before he died.
And the first file inside was a video message addressed directly to his daughter.
