Novel & Cerita The Legendary Mechanic

"I assure you, I didn't take anything. Is it something of relevance, Miss Rebecca? Would you like me to let Mr. Wright-" "No!" I bark so fast and so loud that it echoes in the garage. I heave a deep breath to calm myself. I'm panicking and I need better control-- "The mechanic where you had this washed, call them." "Okay, but I can assure you they didn't take it. They've been working for Mr. Oliver for years now and he trusts them-"

______ Episode 42 – The Mechanic The garage smelled of gasoline, sweat, and rust, a perfume Violet found more intoxicating than anything bottled in Paris. It was her kingdom, a concrete floor stained with decades of oil spills, lit by the harsh fluorescent glow that turned everything into stark contrasts of shadow and light. And in the center of her kingdom, under the hood of a snarling, half-rebuilt ’67 Mustang, was Hudson.

Our eyes met for a few seconds before I looked down. “Alpha Liam,” I said, giving him a slight bow. He glanced briefly at the open engine before returning to me. “You shouldn’t be doing that alone.” “It’s a transmission issue,” I answered, gesturing inside the hood. “The gears are misaligned. If I leave it, it’ll grind itself to pieces.” “I heard you’ve always been obsessed with machines. Didn’t believe it because you’re a woman and most of them don’t want anything to do with mechanics.”

They sat in that velvet room, protected by their father's name and their boyfriends' bank accounts, throwing stones at the world below. The Legend’s Shadow Silas hit a key, minimizing the podcast and pulling up a high-resolution photograph of the Sorgentone patriarch. The Legend. The man in the photo was sixty, but he looked forty-five, thanks to a small fortune spent on trainers, chefs, and the best surgeons in Beverly Hills. He was leaning against a vintage motorcycle, a rugged smirk plastered across his face. He was the "Action Legend," the man who had survived a hundred cinematic explosions and saved a thousand scripted hostages.

Gideon demanded, holding the screaming man firm against the metal door. "His ex-girlfriend! Vivienne Sterling!" the mechanic blurted out desperately. "She was sitting in the car with him when he gave me the money! She provided the daily work schedule of the groundskeeper so I would know when the truck was parked here! That is all I know! I swear on my life!" Gideon kept his icy gaze fixed on the trembling man for three heavy seconds. Then, he tossed the mechanic onto the hard floor like a bag of trash. The man collapsed, coughing violently and clutching his bruised throat.

"You manipulated my sixty years of research." "We provided source material," she says, carefully. "What you did with it was entirely your own." The muscle in his jaw tightens. He pulls out his chair. Sits down. Processes. "Continue," he says, which from Elder Qian right now is the equivalent of controlled fury in someone else. Liang Yue continues. "The Architect was correct that the seal and the System are the same mechanism," she says, turning to me. "He was incorrect about one detail. The fourth function he tried to build — the safe seal removal — he didn't fail to finish it. He finished it."

That felt dangerous too. I lay back against the grass and glanced toward the sky. “Out of all those,” I said casually, “mechanics was probably your best option.” Shaw turned toward me slightly. “Mechanics?” “Yeah.” “I don’t know anything about cars.” “You knew how to fight people and survive prison. Honestly, you were already overqualified for most garages.” “That’s not comforting.” “It’s realistic.” I propped myself up on one elbow now. “I’m serious though,” I said. “Mechanics make decent money. It’s flexible. Hands-on work. Nobody expects you to wear depressing office clothes.”

After he disappeared down the street, one of the veteran mechanics let out a long sigh. “If that kid listened to Elias and learned the right way from the beginning,” he said quietly, “he never would have ended up like this.” I did not answer. I picked up my wrench, knelt beside the Ferrari, and continued fine‑tuning the suspension.

“What are you doing here?” He turned at the sound of the voice and saw a man in his sixties approaching them. The man stopped when he recognized who he was. “Young Master Kincaid,” he said patiently. “You know who I am?” SJ asked. “Of course, I do,” the man replied with a grin. “I’m part of your family’s race team back in the days. I’m the lead mechanic. How are you, son? It’s good to see you.” SJ remained silent for a while.

‘I waited for you until you parked your Range Rover, then I knew that you would follow me because I did not allow myself to be seen by anyone apart from the fact that you could only see my car driving out. ‘Does your driver know?’ the diplomat asked sensing danger of a mission exposed. ‘I’m not an idiot diplomat to allow such men know my actions. This is bigger than any of us. Nobody is indispensable but we are just warriors fighting a war with gigantic and rich enemies who have money and influence. A cleaner is with the body now doing what he knows best. I call him Cleaner not in real sense but because of what he does after such actions are taken. His moves are clean and beyond any law enfo