What The Shop Is Worth

"What are you really trying to prove here?"

Mike asked it from the doorway of our bedroom, still in his work shirt, arms crossed the way he did when he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

"That I didn't cause a crash that almost killed two people."

"Nobody thinks you caused it, Dana."

"Priya Anand might. Ryan made sure of that." I sat on the edge of the bed, the parts box still hidden in a drawer downstairs, the true thing kept out of sight instead of the guilty one. "I found footage that might exist. I want it before the claim closes."

Mike sat down heavy beside me. "Ryan called me tonight. Says if this turns into a fraud finding against the shop, the insurer drops us entirely. No coverage, no financing renewal. Dad's whole business, gone over one bad claim."

"Your dad's business is already at risk. Ryan put it there."

"You don't know that yet."

"I know somebody swapped that brake line back. I know it wasn't me." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "If I let this go quiet to protect the shop, I'm the one who pays for it. Not him."

Mike didn't answer right away. He rubbed a hand over his face, the same gesture his father used to make at that same kitchen table, back when the three of them still ran the place together.

"He's my brother," Mike said finally.

"I'm your wife."

"I know what you are." He said it low, almost angry, though I understood the anger wasn't aimed at me. "I just don't know what's left of any of this once the truth comes out."

"Neither do I." I reached for his hand anyway. "But I'm not going to lie for him to find out."

Mike didn't pull away. He didn't agree either. He just sat there with me in the dark, both of us waiting on a phone call that hadn't come yet, from a woman who was about to decide whether I'd committed a crime.