Chapter 6: The Garage on 4th Street
Elena walked away from the Vance estate that night with nothing but her phone, her crimson dress, and the letter in her clutch. She refused her father's cars and rode in the passenger seat of Julian’s battered 1998 Ford pickup. The heater sputtered warm air against the chill, smelling of motor oil, rain, and cedarwood.
They pulled up to a small, brightly lit garage on 4th Street in the industrial district. Above the bay doors hung a hand-painted sign: Ross Automotive & Community Repairs. Inside, three old sedans sat on hydraulic lifts, and a whiteboard listed neighborhood families who needed pro-bono brake jobs and winter tire swaps.
"It’s not the Ritz," Julian said softly, handing her a clean woolen flannel shirt from his locker to drape over her bare shoulders. "But the coffee is hot, and nobody here lies about who they are."
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Elena pulled the oversized flannel around her crimson dress, feeling an unexpected wave of peace wash over her. She sat on an overturned wooden crate, watching Julian pour black coffee into two ceramic mugs. "Why did you stay here, Julian? With your mechanical skills, you could have worked anywhere in the world."
Julian looked down at his scarred right arm, steam rising from the mug in his hands. "Because this neighborhood raised me. When your father blacklisted me from the big shipyard unions ten years ago, these people gave me food, tools, and a second chance. Real wealth isn't what's in a Swiss bank, Elena. It’s knowing who has your back when the world is on fire."
