Chapter 30
Nora's POV
I climbed out and walked toward the shop entrance, the Lincoln's engine still idling behind me. The glass door chimed as I pushed through into the fluorescent-lit waiting area that smelled of motor oil and burnt coffee.
The man behind the counter looked up from his clipboard. "Help you?"
"I'm here to pick up a Ford Taurus," I said, pulling out my phone to show him the work order confirmation. "It was towed in after an accident on Route 43 about two weeks ago. Nora Grey."
He squinted at the screen, then typed something into his computer with two fingers. "Right, yeah. We got it fixed up. Replaced the rear axle, new bumper, alignment check. Runs good as new." He paused, looking up at me. "I'll need to see your driver's license and the vehicle registration."
My heart sank.
I'd thought the biggest problem was the forgotten license. Now it turned out the name on the vehicle title wasn't mine either.
"Is there a problem?" the man asked.
"I left my license at my apartment. And the car is registered under my father's name," I said carefully. "David Grey. He passed away four years ago in a car accident. I've been driving it since then, but I never formally transferred the title."
The man's expression shifted to something between sympathy and resignation. "I'm sorry for your loss, miss. But I can't release the vehicle without proper documentation proving you're the legal owner."
"I have the insurance card with my name on it," I offered, though even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be enough.
He shook his head. "Insurance isn't ownership. I need the death certificate, proof of inheritance—documents from probate court showing you're the legal heir and have the right to claim the vehicle. It's a liability issue. If I release this car to someone who doesn't legally own it..." He spread his hands apologetically.
Of course. Of course it couldn't be simple.
"I can hold the car for you, no problem. We've got space. Just can't let it go without the paperwork."
I had those documents. They just weren't in my hands.
I thanked him and walked back outside, ready to call my aunt for help.
When I stepped out of the shop, I saw the Lincoln was still there.
Waiting.
Julian had lowered his window, his expression unreadable but his presence somehow reassuring in the gathering dusk.
"Problem?" he asked as I approached.
"The car's registered under my father's name," I explained, shoving my hands into my coat pockets. "I need to provide death certificates, inheritance documents—those papers are all at my aunt's house."
"Is there anything I can help with?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I'll find time to visit my aunt."
He studied me for a moment. "Get in," he said quietly. "I'll take you home."
I hesitated, but only for a second. The thought of standing on this cold street corner waiting for a cab suddenly seemed unbearable. I slid back into the leather seat, and Ethan pulled smoothly back into traffic without needing to be told.
---
We drove in silence for a few blocks, the city lights sliding past the tinted windows. I kept my gaze fixed outside, watching Silverton's downtown core give way to residential streets lined with bare trees.
"Nora."
I turned to find Julian watching me, his expression softer than I'd seen it. He spoke with an almost tentative quality, as if stepping carefully around words that might shatter if dropped.
"Do you have plans tonight?"
The question caught me completely off guard. "Plans?"
"For dinner." A pause. "I know a good restaurant not far from here. If you're free, I thought we could..." He trailed off, the confident Federal Inspector suddenly sounding almost uncertain.
My heart started pounding for reasons I didn't want to examine. This was Julian Sterling. The Federal Inspector General.
And he was asking me to dinner.
But then I remembered—Benjamin and I had already made plans for tonight.
"I'm sorry," I heard myself say, the words coming out too quickly. "I already have plans."
Something flickered across Julian's face—disappointment, perhaps. "Of course," he said, his voice deliberately neutral. "I shouldn't have interrupted your plans."
But there was a signal in those words—frustration, tightly controlled.
Soon the car arrived at my apartment.
Ethan cleared his throat softly. "We're here."
"Thank you, Ethan," I said, saying goodbye to them both.
The Lincoln pulled away from the apartment. I reached for the door handle, my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't name—regret, maybe, or something closer to loss.
---
Back in my room, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Aunt Marianne's number.
She picked up on the second ring. "Nora? Sweetheart, is everything all right?"
"Hi, Aunt Marianne." I forced my voice to steady. "I'm fine. I just need your help with something. I'm trying to pick up Dad's car from the repair shop, but they need documentation proving I'm the legal owner. His death certificate, inheritance papers, the title transfer documents—do you still have all that?"
"Oh, honey, of course I do. They're all locked up in the safe with your father's other important papers." Her voice softened. "I kept meaning to have you come get them, but you've been so busy with work..."
"I'll come pick them up in a couple of days."
"Why don't I just mail them to you? It's too much trouble for you to drive all the way from Blackwood."
Marianne's family lived in the suburbs of Silverton. They didn't know yet that I'd been transferred to the regional office.
"Actually, I've been transferred to the DSW regional office in Silverton."
"Really? Oh, sweetheart." Her voice filled with pleasant surprise.
"Yes. I think I'll find time to come visit you all."
"That's wonderful. Make sure to let me know before you come—I'll make your favorite apple pie." She'd always remembered the foods I loved.
"I will."
"Take care of yourself, dear. And Nora?" She paused. "Kyle came by the house a week ago. He was looking for you."
Marianne's voice turned cautious. "Is everything all right between you two?"
I closed my eyes, leaning against the cold brick wall. "We broke up, Aunt Marianne. It's over."
Silence on the other end. Then: "I'm sorry, honey. He seemed so devoted to you."
Devoted. The word tasted bitter. "His family didn't want him with a human caseworker," I said flatly. "And he wasn't willing to stand up to them for me. It's for the best."
"Well, you're better off without that kind of trouble. You deserve someone who'll stand up for you, not fold the moment things get difficult." She paused. "Are you taking care of yourself? Eating properly?"
"I'm trying." It wasn't entirely a lie.
"That's not the same as actually doing it. Promise me you'll get a real meal tonight, not just vending machine coffee and granola bars."
"I promise."
My phone buzzed with a message. It was from Benjamin.
I'm downstairs. Don't forget about that feast.
I smiled, interrupting Marianne's concerned rambling. "I have to go, Aunt Marianne."
"Of course, sweetheart. Call me if you need anything."