A Little Girl Promised Her Dad Could Fix a Millionaire’s Broken Ferrari—But the Real Breakdown Was the Secret That Followed Him and the Lie That Protected Her Family
The Ferrari didn’t look stranded.
It looked offended.
Sleek red paint gleamed under the late-afternoon sun like it had been polished by vanity itself. It sat at an awkward angle on the shoulder of the coastal highway, hazard lights blinking with a slow, impatient rhythm—like a rich man tapping his foot.
Damian Cross stood beside it, suit jacket draped over his arm, phone pressed to his ear for the third time.
“No signal,” he muttered, though the voice on the other end—his assistant—could still hear him.
“Mr. Cross, you’re cutting out. Where are you exactly?” she asked.
Damian looked up at the endless line of sea cliffs and wind-stunted trees. There were no billboards, no convenient landmarks, no clusters of coffee shops or glass buildings to anchor him to the world he knew.
“I’m… on Highway 9, somewhere past the marina,” he said, eyes narrowing as if he could intimidate the landscape into behaving. “The car shut down. I need a tow. Now.”
“Okay, I’ll dispatch—”
The line crackled and died.
Damian lowered the phone and stared at the dead screen like it had personally betrayed him.
He had been late for a board meeting, rerouted by construction, and now the universe had decided to humiliate him in the most expensive way possible: by making his very expensive machine refuse to move.
He paced once, then twice, then stopped and leaned over the hood. The dashboard had flashed an error he didn’t recognize. He’d never learned what those symbols meant. He didn’t need to. He owned people who knew.
Except none of them were here.
A gust of wind blew salty air into his face. Damian straightened, grimacing.
He’d rather be in an elevator full of strangers than out here, exposed to weather and inconvenience.
Then he heard a soft voice behind him.
“Mister?”
Damian turned.
A little girl stood a few feet away, holding the hand of a woman—no, not quite a woman. A young mother, maybe late twenties, wearing jeans and a faded hoodie. The girl’s hair was in two messy braids, and her eyes were wide, bright, curious.
The mother looked cautious, the kind of caution that came from life teaching you not to approach rich problems unless you wanted them to become your own.
Damian forced his features into something neutral. “Yes?”
The girl pointed at the Ferrari. “Is it sick?”
Damian blinked, caught off guard by the phrasing. “It’s… not working.”
The girl leaned closer as if the car could hear her. She lowered her voice dramatically, like she was about to reveal a secret.
“My dad can fix it,” she whispered.
Damian almost laughed. Almost.
He looked at the mother, expecting her to pull the girl back and apologize. Instead, the mother’s grip tightened slightly, and her eyes flicked past Damian to the open engine bay.
“I’m sorry,” the mother said quickly. “Lila doesn’t know—”
“I do!” Lila insisted, tugging her hand free. “Dad fixes everything. He fixed Mrs. Harlow’s fridge. And Mr. Vance’s truck. And the school bus door.”
Damian’s gaze sharpened at the word truck.
“Your father is a mechanic?” he asked.
The mother hesitated. “He… used to be. He does work around town now.”
Damian looked down at his car, then back at the child.
A mechanic.
Out here.
It was ridiculous. It was also, unfortunately, his best option.
Damian exhaled slowly. “Can you call him?”
The mother’s face tightened, as if the request carried a weight. “We don’t have great reception either.”
Lila bounced on her heels. “We live close! Like… that way!” She pointed toward a narrow road that disappeared between trees.
Damian stared down the road. Walking to some stranger’s house was not a scenario he had ever pictured for himself.
He pictured it now and hated it.
But then another gust of wind hit, and the Ferrari’s hazard lights blinked again, mocking him.
Damian made a decision.
“Fine,” he said. “Take me to him.”
The mother’s eyes widened slightly. “Sir, I—”
“It’s okay, Mama,” Lila said with absolute confidence. “Dad likes fixing things. It makes him happy.”
The mother looked at Damian like she was trying to decide whether he was dangerous in the way wolves were dangerous, or dangerous in the way storms were.
Damian gave her a polite, stiff nod. “I’m not going to cause trouble. I just need the car running.”
The mother’s lips pressed into a line. Then she sighed.
“Alright,” she said. “But it’s not far. And… we don’t have much.”
Damian didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
They started walking.
The road to their house wasn’t paved, not fully. It was a ribbon of gravel and dirt that cut through scrub trees and wild grass. Lila skipped ahead, humming, occasionally turning to make sure Damian was still following like she’d adopted him.
The mother walked beside him, her posture protective.
Damian felt the strange sensation of being out of place, like he’d wandered into someone else’s life without permission.
“What’s your name?” Lila asked suddenly.
Damian hesitated. People usually knew his name.
“Damian,” he said.
Lila nodded solemnly. “I’m Lila. This is my mama, Jo.”
Jo offered a small nod. “Joanna,” she corrected softly, though there was no sharpness in it. Just habit.
Damian glanced at her. She looked tired, but not the tiredness of someone who’d stayed up late by choice. The kind of tired that settled into your bones when life didn’t pause.
“How old are you?” Damian asked Lila, mostly to fill the silence.
“Six and three quarters,” Lila announced proudly. “I can read big words.”
Damian smiled despite himself. “Can you?”
Lila squinted at him. “Yes. Like… ‘emergency.’ And ‘congratulations.’ And ‘Ferrari.’”
Damian’s eyebrow lifted. “You can read Ferrari?”
Lila beamed. “It’s on the back. I read it.”
Jo’s mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile. “She reads everything.”
Damian looked ahead as the trees opened into a small clearing.
A modest house sat there—paint peeling, porch steps slightly crooked. A rusty pickup truck was parked in the driveway. A bicycle leaned against the porch railing.
It was nothing like the homes Damian stepped into for fundraising dinners.
But there was something… warm about it. Not aesthetically. Emotionally. Like the air around it had less tension.
Lila bounded up the steps and flung open the screen door.
“Dad!” she shouted. “Dad! A fancy car man needs help!”
Jo winced. “Lila—”
A man appeared in the doorway.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that looked permanently stained by work. His hair was dark and slightly unkempt, and his eyes—sharp green—took in Damian in a single glance.
Damian recognized that look.
Not admiration. Not fear.
Assessment.
Like the man was deciding whether Damian was worth the effort.
“What’s going on?” the man asked, voice calm.
Lila grabbed his hand. “His car is sick. He’s stranded by the cliffs.”
The man’s gaze moved to Jo.
Jo exhaled. “It’s a Ferrari,” she said quietly, as if that word could summon problems.
The man’s face didn’t change much, but something flickered in his eyes. Recognition? Surprise?
Then he looked back at Damian. “You drove a Ferrari down Highway 9?”
Damian bristled slightly. “Yes.”
The man nodded once. “I’m Ben.”
He didn’t offer his last name. He didn’t offer his hand.
Damian was about to announce who he was—Damian Cross, CEO of CrossTech, the man whose name is on half the buildings downtown—but something about Ben’s expression made him pause.
It wouldn’t matter here.
Not in the way it mattered elsewhere.
“I need it fixed,” Damian said.
Ben studied him for a beat too long. Then he glanced at Lila.
“Grab my tool bag,” Ben said.
Lila saluted. “Yes, boss!”
Jo followed them inside briefly, then came back out and gestured toward the porch. “You can sit. I’ll… make some water.”
Damian sat on a chair that creaked under him.
He watched Ben load tools into the rusty pickup truck.
The contrast was almost funny—like watching a surgeon arrive on a skateboard.
Lila climbed into the truck eagerly.
Ben looked at Damian. “You coming?”
Damian hesitated. “I don’t fit in that truck.”
Ben’s mouth curved faintly. “You’ll manage.”
Damian climbed into the passenger seat, adjusting his suit awkwardly as the cracked leather seat squealed.
Lila leaned forward between them. “Don’t worry, mister Damian. Dad is magic.”
Ben started the engine. “I’m not magic.”
“Yes you are,” Lila insisted. “You fixed my toy unicorn when its horn fell off.”
Ben’s eyes softened briefly. “Glue is not magic.”
Lila giggled. “It is if you do it.”
Damian looked out the window as they drove back toward his Ferrari, dust rising behind the truck.
He had no idea that within the next hour, his life would split into two versions of itself.
And he wouldn’t be able to put it back together the same way.
At the roadside, Ben crouched by the Ferrari like it was an animal he was trying to understand.
Damian hovered, arms crossed, watching with impatience he tried to hide.
Ben opened the hood, examined the engine bay, then reached for a diagnostic tool.
Damian raised an eyebrow. “You have one of those?”
Ben didn’t look up. “Old habit.”
He plugged it in, waited, then frowned.
“That’s odd,” Ben murmured.
Damian’s stomach tightened. “What?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed as he scrolled through codes. “This isn’t a normal fault.”
Damian leaned closer. “Can you fix it or not?”
Ben lifted his gaze slowly. “Has your car been serviced recently?”
“Yes. At the authorized center. It’s always serviced.”
Ben’s jaw tightened slightly. “And did anyone… tamper with it? After the service?”
Damian scoffed. “Why would anyone tamper with my car?”
Ben held his gaze for a moment, then returned to the engine.
He removed a panel, then reached deeper, fingers moving with practiced skill.
Lila sat on a rock nearby, swinging her legs. “Is it gonna explode?”
Ben didn’t even look at her. “No.”
Damian’s voice sharpened. “Is it safe?”
Ben pulled something out.
A small device, black and unfamiliar, with wires attached.
Damian stared. “What is that?”
Ben’s eyes stayed on the device. “That,” he said quietly, “is not factory.”
Damian felt a chill spread through his chest. “Are you telling me someone put something in my car?”
Ben looked up, expression hard. “Yes.”
Damian’s mind raced. He thought of competitors, threats, the occasional angry email that slipped through security filters.
But this was different.
This was close.
Personal.
Ben turned the device in his hand, scanning it. “Looks like a kill switch,” he said. “Remote or timed. Could shut the engine down whenever someone wanted.”
Damian’s throat tightened. “Why?”
Ben’s gaze flicked to Damian’s face—searching, almost suspicious. “You tell me. Who wants you stuck on the side of a road with no reception?”
Damian’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer.
Because too many names came to mind.
Ben exhaled through his nose. “I can remove it. But you should take this to law enforcement. And don’t drive it until it’s fully checked.”
Damian stared at the device like it was a snake.
Ben set it carefully into a cloth, then began disconnecting it.
Lila hopped down from the rock. “See? Dad fixed it.”
Ben didn’t smile.
He worked quickly, efficiently. After several minutes, he wiped his hands and nodded toward Damian.
“Try it now.”
Damian slid into the driver’s seat, heart thudding. He turned the key.
The engine roared to life like it had been insulted and wanted to prove a point.
Damian exhaled shakily, then stepped back out.
Ben closed the hood. “It’ll run. But don’t ignore what I found.”
Damian stared at Ben. “Why would you care?”
Ben met his eyes without flinching. “Because I have a kid,” he said simply. “And people who do things like that don’t stop at cars.”
The words hit Damian harder than he expected.
He glanced at Lila, who was now picking wildflowers and humming to herself, oblivious to the danger.
Damian swallowed. “How much do I owe you?”
Ben’s expression turned distant. “Nothing.”
Damian blinked. “What?”
Ben wiped his hands again. “I’m not taking money from you.”
Damian’s pride flared. “Why not?”
Ben’s gaze sharpened. “Because I know who you are, Damian Cross.”
Damian went still.
The coastal wind seemed to pause.
“How?” Damian asked slowly.
Ben didn’t answer immediately. His eyes flicked briefly to Lila, then back.
“Because I worked at CrossTech,” Ben said, voice flat. “Before my life got… rearranged.”
Damian’s chest tightened. He studied Ben’s face again.
There was something familiar.
Not from magazines.
From memory.
A man in a conference room, speaking once, maybe twice. Someone in engineering. Someone who didn’t flatter.
Damian’s mind clicked.
“Ben Hart,” he said.
Ben’s jaw tightened at the name. “Yeah.”
Damian stared. “You disappeared.”
Ben let out a humorless laugh. “That’s one word for it.”
Damian’s heart beat harder. “What happened to you?”
Ben’s gaze hardened. “Ask your board. Ask your legal team.”
Damian’s mouth opened, then closed.
He remembered a scandal years ago. A whistleblower? A patent dispute? A settlement? His lawyers had handled it. He’d signed documents between meetings, trusting the machine to protect him from mess.
He had never looked closely.
Now the mess sat in front of him, holding his car’s sabotage device in a cloth.
Lila skipped back, holding flowers out toward Damian. “For you! So you don’t feel sad about your car.”
Damian stared at the flowers, throat tight. “Thank you,” he managed.
Lila smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Ben’s eyes softened slightly watching her, then sharpened again when he looked at Damian.
“Go,” Ben said. “Before it gets dark.”
Damian didn’t move. “Ben—”
Ben’s voice dropped. “Not here.”
Jo’s voice came from behind them. “Ben?”
Jo had walked up the roadside, concern in her eyes. She took in the scene—the Ferrari, Damian, the device wrapped in cloth.
Her gaze flicked to Ben’s face and she went still.
“What is that?” she asked quietly.
Ben’s jaw tightened. “Something that shouldn’t be in his car.”
Jo’s eyes widened, and her hand flew to Lila’s shoulder instinctively.
Damian watched the way her whole posture became protective.
He felt an unexpected surge of guilt.
Because whatever this was, he had dragged it into their lives simply by existing.
Damian cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said again, voice lower. “I… appreciate it.”
Ben nodded once, curt. “Yeah.”
Damian turned to his car, but before he got in, he looked back.
Lila waved enthusiastically. “Bye fancy car man!”
Damian lifted a hand in return.
Then he drove away, the Ferrari running smoothly now—while his mind spun wildly out of control.
That night, Damian sat in his penthouse with the kill switch device on his kitchen counter.
His security chief, Nora Vance, stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“This is serious,” Nora said. “We’ll have it analyzed. We’ll check the service records, the cameras, everyone who had access.”
Damian nodded, but his mind was not on the device anymore.
It was on Ben Hart.
On the way Ben’s eyes hardened when he said CrossTech.
On the words: Ask your board. Ask your legal team.
Damian poured himself a drink, then didn’t touch it.
“Run a search,” he told Nora. “Ben Hart. Former employee. Engineering.”
Nora frowned. “We can. But why—”
“Because he was there,” Damian said. “Because he fixed my car and refused payment. Because he knows things.”
Nora’s gaze narrowed. “You think he planted it?”
Damian’s head snapped up. “No.”
He said it with more certainty than he expected.
Nora studied him. “Then why?”
Damian stared at the device again. “Because someone wanted me stuck where he could find me.”
Nora’s expression sharpened. “You think it was staged.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “I think nothing is random anymore.”
Nora nodded once. “Okay. I’ll dig.”
After she left, Damian stood alone in the quiet penthouse.
He thought of Lila’s flowers.
He thought of Jo’s cautious eyes.
He thought of Ben’s refusal to take money.
He thought, for the first time in a long time, of how many lives his company touched without him ever seeing the faces attached to the consequences.
And he realized something that unsettled him deeply:
He needed to see Ben again.
Not because of the Ferrari.
Because of the truth.
Damian returned to the coastal road three days later, not in the Ferrari, but in a plain black SUV.
He parked near the gravel road and walked.
This time, the air was colder. The sky was overcast.
When he reached the small house, Lila spotted him first and squealed.
“Fancy car man!” she shouted, barreling toward him.
Damian caught himself before instinct made him step back. He crouched slightly, letting her small arms wrap around his legs.
“Hello, Lila,” he said, awkward.
Lila looked up. “Did your car get better?”
Damian swallowed. “Yes. Thanks to your dad.”
Lila nodded firmly. “Dad fixes everything.”
Jo appeared in the doorway, eyes narrowing the moment she saw Damian.
“Sir,” she said cautiously. “Is something wrong?”
Damian straightened. “I need to speak with Ben.”
Jo’s expression tightened. “About what?”
Damian hesitated. “About… the past.”
Jo’s gaze sharpened. “Ben is busy.”
“I won’t take long,” Damian said. “Please.”
Jo stared at him for a moment, then sighed.
“Ben,” she called into the house. “He’s back.”
Ben stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag.
His eyes landed on Damian and hardened immediately.
“What do you want?” Ben asked.
Damian glanced at Lila, who was now spinning in circles in the yard.
“Not in front of her,” Damian said quietly.
Ben’s jaw flexed. He looked at Jo. “Take Lila inside.”
Lila pouted. “But—”
“Please,” Ben said, softer.
Jo guided Lila in, closing the screen door behind them.
The yard fell quiet.
Ben crossed his arms. “Talk.”
Damian took a breath. “I didn’t know what happened to you,” he said.
Ben’s laugh was short, bitter. “Of course you didn’t. That was the point.”
Damian swallowed. “My assistant is pulling records. But I want to hear it from you.”
Ben stared at him, eyes like glass.
“You want the story now?” Ben said. “After years?”
Damian’s voice tightened. “Yes.”
Ben looked away toward the sea cliffs, jaw clenched. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I built something,” Ben said. “A safety protocol. A real one. Not a flashy marketing feature. Something that would’ve saved lives in our smart vehicle division.”
Damian’s brow furrowed. “I remember that division.”
“Your board didn’t want it,” Ben said. “Too expensive. Too many delays. They wanted speed.”
Damian’s stomach tightened.
Ben continued, “I pushed back. I documented risks. I refused to sign off on shortcuts. And then—suddenly—I was accused of leaking proprietary data.”
Damian went still. “What?”
Ben’s eyes flashed. “Yeah. Funny, right? A guy who couldn’t even afford a lawyer gets blamed for a leak right before a merger.”
Damian’s throat tightened. “Were you guilty?”
Ben’s laugh was harsh. “No.”
Damian’s heart pounded. “So what happened?”
Ben’s gaze turned distant. “Your legal team offered me a settlement with an NDA. Said if I didn’t sign, they’d bury me. They’d make sure I never worked in engineering again.”
Damian felt nausea rise. “Ben…”
Ben’s eyes snapped back to him. “I signed. Because Jo was pregnant. Because we needed insurance. Because your company had us by the throat.”
Damian’s face went pale. “I didn’t know.”
Ben stepped closer, voice low. “You didn’t want to know.”
The words struck Damian like a slap.
Damian swallowed, struggling. “I’m here now,” he said, voice rough. “And I’m listening.”
Ben’s jaw clenched again. “Listening doesn’t fix what you broke.”
Damian nodded slowly. “No. But maybe it starts something.”
Ben stared at him for a long moment.
Then he said quietly, “Why do you think your car was sabotaged?”
Damian’s stomach tightened. “Because someone wanted to scare me. Or control me.”
Ben nodded once. “Or remind you.”
Damian looked at him. “You think the board is behind it?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “I think you have enemies wearing suits. And I think you’re just now realizing how close they stand to you.”
Damian’s hands tightened at his sides. “Help me,” he said suddenly.
Ben’s expression shifted—surprise, then suspicion.
“Help you what?” Ben asked.
“Find who did it,” Damian said. “And… fix what happened to you.”
Ben’s mouth tightened. “You can’t.”
Damian stepped forward, voice firm. “I can try.”
Ben stared at him. “Why?”
Damian’s eyes flicked toward the house where a child’s laughter faintly echoed through the screen door.
“Because your daughter thought you could fix everything,” Damian said quietly. “And she was right.”
Ben’s face tightened with something like pain.
Damian continued, “And because I’m tired of pretending I built something clean when I keep stepping on the parts I never looked at.”
For a moment, Ben said nothing.
Then he exhaled, slow.
“Come inside,” Ben said. “But keep your voice down.”
Damian nodded.
Jo opened the door when they approached, her eyes wary.
They stepped into a small living room filled with secondhand furniture and children’s drawings taped to the wall.
Lila sat on the rug with crayons. She looked up and grinned at Damian. “Hi again!”
Damian forced a smile. “Hi.”
Ben glanced at Jo. “He’s not here to cause trouble.”
Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Then why is he here?”
Ben hesitated.
Damian spoke instead. “Because I owe your family an apology I didn’t know I owed.”
Jo stared at him, jaw tight.
Then, quietly, she said, “That doesn’t mean you get to walk into our home like you belong.”
Damian nodded. “You’re right.”
Lila looked between them, sensing tension. “Do you want to color?”
Damian blinked. “Me?”
Lila patted the rug beside her. “Sit.”
Damian, the man who controlled boardrooms and budgets, found himself lowering onto a rug beside a six-year-old girl.
He picked up a blue crayon like it might explode.
Lila giggled. “You’re funny.”
Damian glanced up at Ben, who looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or yell.
Jo watched closely, still guarded.
Damian began coloring, awkward but trying.
And in that ordinary, ridiculous moment, he felt something he hadn’t expected:
Shame.
Not the public kind.
The private kind that came when you realized you’d been powerful and careless.
Over the next two weeks, Damian came back.
Not every day. Not with announcements. Quietly.
He brought groceries once, and Jo tried to refuse. Damian left them anyway, awkward and stubborn.
He brought a small set of new crayons for Lila, and she squealed like he’d given her a treasure chest.
He sat with Ben at the kitchen table while Lila watched cartoons and Jo folded laundry in the corner, listening.
Ben was still cautious, still sharp, but he started talking.
About engineering, about the things he missed, about the bitterness that had eaten him alive for a while.
Damian listened.
And the more Damian learned, the more he realized his company wasn’t just a machine.
It was a forest.
And there were shadows inside it he’d ignored because they didn’t affect his view.
Then Nora called.
“Mr. Cross,” she said, voice tight, “we found something.”
Damian’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“The device in your car,” Nora said. “It matches a batch purchased by a private security firm. The firm is used by… one of our board members.”
Damian’s blood ran cold. “Which one?”
Nora hesitated. “Harold Mott.”
Damian’s jaw clenched.
Harold Mott: charming, smiling, always praising Damian in public. Always pushing aggressive expansion.
Damian’s grip tightened on the phone. “Get me everything.”
“Yes, sir,” Nora said. “And… there’s more.”
Damian’s heart hammered. “Tell me.”
“We pulled older legal records,” Nora said. “The case with Ben Hart—your signature was on the final settlement. But it was routed through three intermediaries. You likely never saw the full accusations or the internal emails.”
Damian’s stomach turned. “Who wrote them?”
Nora’s voice was quiet. “Harold Mott. He spearheaded the accusation.”
Damian closed his eyes.
The same man who had set up Ben’s downfall had likely sabotaged Damian’s car.
It wasn’t random.
It was a message.
You’re still under my thumb.
Damian ended the call and sat in silence, staring at the wall.
Ben’s voice came from the doorway. “Bad news?”
Damian looked up.
Ben’s eyes narrowed at Damian’s face.
Damian swallowed. “Yes.”
Ben stepped closer. “Who?”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “Harold Mott.”
Ben’s expression hardened. “Of course.”
Damian stood slowly. “I need to confront him. But I can’t do it blindly. I need proof.”
Ben nodded once. “You have me.”
Damian blinked. “What?”
Ben’s gaze was steady. “If he did that to you, he’ll do worse when he’s cornered. You need someone who understands systems. And people. And how they hide bad work behind good language.”
Damian’s throat tightened. “Why would you help me?”
Ben’s eyes flicked toward the living room, where Lila was singing softly to her dolls.
“Because if your company stays rotten,” Ben said quietly, “it will rot the world my kid grows up in.”
Damian stared at him, something heavy shifting in his chest.
“Okay,” Damian said. “Help me.”
Ben nodded.
Jo appeared behind Ben, wiping her hands on a towel.
“What’s happening?” she asked, eyes wary.
Ben hesitated.
Damian looked at her. “Someone powerful hurt your family,” he said quietly. “And he’s still powerful. I want to stop him.”
Jo’s eyes sharpened. “And you want Ben to risk himself again.”
Damian swallowed. “I don’t want to ask. But I am asking.”
Jo stared at Ben, then at Damian.
Then she said quietly, “If you’re serious… then prove it.”
Damian nodded. “How?”
Jo stepped closer, voice low. “Don’t just fix Ben’s case. Fix the system that let it happen.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “I will.”
Jo’s gaze didn’t soften. “Words are free.”
Damian met her eyes. “Then judge me by what I do next.”
The confrontation didn’t happen in a boardroom.
It happened in daylight, in Damian’s office, with the city stretched out behind him like a kingdom.
Harold Mott walked in smiling, carrying a leather folder.
“Damian,” Harold said warmly. “Heard about the unfortunate incident with your car. Scary stuff.”
Damian gestured to a chair. “Sit.”
Harold sat, still smiling. “We should increase personal security. I can recommend a firm—”
“I know,” Damian said.
Harold’s smile faltered slightly. “You know what?”
Damian slid a folder across the desk.
Inside were photos of the kill switch. Purchase records. Communications. Nora had moved fast.
Harold’s eyes flicked down, then back up.
For a heartbeat, the charm cracked. Something cold appeared.
“That’s quite the collection,” Harold said slowly.
“Did you do it?” Damian asked.
Harold leaned back. “Damian. You’re emotional.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. “Answer.”
Harold’s smile returned, thinner. “Let’s say I wanted you to pause. To remember who helped you get here.”
Damian’s voice went low. “You tried to trap me on the side of a road.”
Harold shrugged. “Nothing happened to you, did it?”
Damian stared at him, anger burning. “You did something similar to Ben Hart.”
Harold’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
Damian’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t play ignorant.”
Harold’s smile vanished. “You’re digging up old dust.”
Damian leaned forward. “You ruined a man’s career to protect a merger.”
Harold’s voice turned icy. “I protected this company.”
Damian’s eyes flashed. “You protected yourself.”
Silence.
Harold stood slowly. “Be careful,” he said softly. “You think you’re the king because you sit in the big chair. But the chair is built by people like me.”
Damian stood too, voice steady. “Then consider this your notice. You’re out.”
Harold’s eyes widened slightly. “You can’t.”
Damian’s gaze didn’t waver. “Watch me.”
Harold’s expression hardened. “If you do this, you’ll tear the company apart.”
Damian’s voice dropped. “Good. Then we’ll rebuild it right.”
Harold stared at him for a long moment, then laughed softly.
“You’ve changed,” Harold murmured.
Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Harold’s gaze sharpened. “Who did this to you?”
Damian thought of a little girl’s whisper.
My dad can fix it.
Damian looked Harold in the eyes. “The truth did.”
Harold left without another word.
But Damian knew the fight wasn’t over.
Because men like Harold didn’t lose quietly.
The next blow came fast.
A smear campaign appeared online—anonymous leaks, twisted narratives, old rumors resurfacing. Headlines suggested Damian was unstable, compromised, reckless.
CrossTech stock dipped.
Board members panicked.
Rhiannon—Damian’s social circle—began making calls, asking questions with too-sweet voices.
Damian’s penthouse felt suddenly smaller, like the walls were listening.
And then, late one evening, Ben called.
His voice was tight. “Damian. Someone was at our house.”
Damian’s blood ran cold. “What?”
Jo’s voice came through the line, shaking but controlled. “A car parked down the road. Someone watching.”
Damian’s chest tightened. “Are you okay?”
“We’re okay,” Ben said. “For now.”
Damian’s hands clenched. “I’m coming.”
“No,” Ben said sharply. “That’s what they want. They want you to panic. They want you to drag attention here.”
Damian swallowed hard. “Then what do I do?”
Ben’s voice was low. “You finish it. Fast.”
Damian closed his eyes, heart pounding.
He realized then what Jo had meant.
Fix the system.
Not just one case.
Because when you challenged power, it didn’t just hit you.
It hit the people around you.
Damian opened his eyes, voice steady. “I’ll finish it.”
Damian did something he’d never done before.
He went public.
Not with a press release full of polished language.
With a live announcement.
He stood in front of cameras, suit perfect, face tired.
“I have become aware,” he said, voice steady, “of actions taken within my company that harmed employees and prioritized profit over integrity.”
The room went silent.
Damian continued, “I will not protect wrongdoing for the sake of comfort. I will be launching an independent investigation into past legal settlements and internal retaliation.”
Reporters erupted with questions.
Damian raised a hand. “And I will personally reinstate and compensate employees harmed by these actions—starting with one man whose life was damaged for doing the right thing.”
The cameras flashed.
Damian took a breath.
“Ben Hart,” he said.
In a small house by the cliffs, Jo’s hand flew to her mouth.
Ben went still, phone pressed to his ear.
Lila looked up from her crayons. “Dad? Why are you sad?”
Ben’s voice broke slightly. “I’m not sad,” he whispered. “I’m… surprised.”
Damian’s voice came through the TV clearly.
“I want to apologize publicly,” Damian said, eyes fixed forward. “Not because I was the one who wrote the accusations, but because I was the one who benefited from not looking.”
He paused.
“I am looking now.”
The fallout was immediate.
Harold Mott resigned within forty-eight hours—quietly, with a statement about “health reasons.”
Investigators dug in. Emails surfaced. Record trails connected sabotage purchases to Harold’s associates.
The board fractured, then reformed.
CrossTech took a hit—but it didn’t collapse.
It changed.
And Ben Hart’s name—once buried under an NDA—returned to the world with a different story attached.
A story of someone who refused to sign off on shortcuts.
A story Damian insisted on telling correctly.
When Damian finally returned to Ben’s house, weeks later, the air felt different.
Not safe, exactly.
But less hunted.
Jo opened the door and studied Damian carefully.
“You did it,” she said quietly.
Damian nodded. “Not all of it,” he admitted. “But enough to start.”
Jo’s gaze lingered on him, then shifted to Lila, who peeked from behind the doorframe.
Lila’s eyes brightened. “Fancy car man!”
Damian smiled. “Hello.”
Lila ran up and pressed something into his hand.
It was a drawing.
A red car. A stick figure man. A stick figure girl. And another stick figure man with a tool.
Above them, in messy letters, were the words: DAD FIX IT
Damian’s throat tightened.
He looked up at Ben.
Ben’s eyes were bright, but his expression was steady.
“You didn’t just fix a car,” Ben said quietly. “You fixed a corner of your world.”
Damian swallowed. “I should’ve done it sooner.”
Ben nodded. “Yeah.”
Jo crossed her arms, but her posture softened slightly. “Lila doesn’t understand any of this,” she said. “She just knows you came back.”
Damian looked down at the drawing again. “She was right,” he said softly. “Her dad can fix it.”
Ben’s mouth twitched faintly. “Sometimes.”
Damian met Ben’s eyes. “And sometimes,” Damian said, voice low, “a kid fixes the adults.”
Ben let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.
Lila tugged Damian’s sleeve. “Do you want cookies?”
Damian blinked. “Cookies?”
Lila nodded seriously. “Mom made them. Cookies make people nice.”
Jo rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. “She’s not wrong.”
Damian followed them inside.
He sat at a small kitchen table, holding a cup of coffee that didn’t come in a crystal mug.
He listened to Lila talk about school and unicorns.
He watched Ben move through the room like a man who had carried heavy things and was finally putting some of them down.
And Damian realized that his Ferrari breaking down by the cliffs hadn’t been a failure.
It had been a door.
And the little girl whispering beside the car hadn’t just offered help.
She had offered a different way of living.
One where fixing things meant more than making engines run.
It meant making lives less fragile.
Damian looked at the drawing again, then tucked it carefully into his suit jacket like it was a contract more valuable than any he’d signed before.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees.
Inside, for the first time in a long time, Damian felt something close to peace.
Not because the world was perfect.
But because he was finally trying to repair the parts he’d ignored.
And that, he knew, was the only kind of wealth worth keeping.
