Chapter 3: The Secret in My Father's Notebook
I didn't leave.
Not immediately.
I stood in the middle of the apartment, holding two cardboard boxes, while Naomi stared at the phone in her hand.
“What don't I know?”” I asked.
She swallowed.
“It's complicated.””
“That's the second time you've said that.””
“Please don't shout.””
“I'm not shouting. I'm asking you a question.””
She placed her phone on the kitchen counter.
“Xavier introduced me to some investors last year. They were interested in technology that could improve commercial vehicle safety.””
“And?””
“I mentioned your prototype.””
“You already told me that.””
“He asked to see it.””
My stomach tightened.
“And you sent him the photographs.””
“Yes.””
“Did you send anything else?””
She hesitated.
I placed the boxes on the floor.
“Naomi.””
She closed her eyes.
“I sent him a few pages from your notebook.””
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything.
Not the refrigerator humming.
Not the traffic outside.
Nothing.
“My father's notebook?””
“I didn't know it was his.””
I stared at her.
“You've seen that notebook a hundred times.””
“It was lying on your workbench!””
“Because I was using it!””
She raised her hands.
“I was trying to help you!””
I laughed.
A short, bitter sound.
“By giving away my designs?””
“I didn't give away the entire thing.””
“How many pages?””
She looked down.
“Twenty-three.””
I stepped backward.
Twenty-three pages.
Some contained my father's original sketches. Others contained my own calculations and modifications.
It had taken me years to understand what he had been trying to build.
I remembered being twelve years old, sitting on an overturned bucket while he explained how a failing brake system could become dangerous in a fraction of a second.
He used to draw diagrams on the backs of old receipts.
He never had the money to develop his ideas.
But he believed I would.
I had carried that notebook through three apartments, two garages, and countless sleepless nights.
And Naomi had handed pieces of it to a stranger.
“When?”” I asked.
“About four months ago.””
Four months.
That was before the graduation.
Before Xavier.
Before the proposal.
I looked at her.
“Did you receive money?””
She didn't answer.
I moved toward the kitchen counter.
“Did you?””
“Cedric, please.””
“How much?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Twenty thousand dollars.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Twenty thousand?””
“It was a consulting payment.””
“For what?””
“Introducing him to the technology.””
I shook my head.
“You sold access to something that wasn't yours.””
“I didn't think it would become this big!””
“Then why did you take the money?””
She started crying.
“I was under pressure. I had debts. I needed to finish my research.””
I stared at her.
“You had debts?””
She nodded.
“Student expenses. Personal expenses. Things you wouldn't understand.””
I almost asked her whether the money I had spent supporting her wasn't enough.
But I already knew the answer.
It would never have been enough.
Not to someone who believed sacrifice was an obligation rather than a gift.
I picked up my boxes.
“I'm leaving.””
“Cedric, wait!””
She stepped in front of the door.
“Please don't tell anyone about this.””
I looked at her.
“You're worried about your reputation?””
“My doctorate. My career. Everything I've worked for.””
I lowered my voice.
“What about everything I've worked for?””
She wiped her cheeks.
“Xavier said we could make this right.””
“Who is we?””
She looked away.
That was enough.
I opened the door.
Then I left.
Rebecca was furious when I told her.
Not the loud kind of furious.
The controlled kind that made her voice quieter.
She sat behind her desk, reading the photographs of Naomi's messages and the information I had given her.
“Did she sign a confidentiality agreement?”” Rebecca asked.
“No.””
“Did you authorize her to disclose any part of your designs?””
“No.””
“Did you ever give Xavier permission to represent you?””
“Never.””
She removed her glasses.
“Cedric, this is potentially serious.””
I leaned forward.
“Can they steal my patent?””
“Not simply because someone has photographs of your drawings. But the disclosure may complicate the ownership and confidentiality issues. We need to establish exactly what was shared, when, and with whom.””
She opened another file.
“Do you have the original notebook?””
“Yes. At my garage.””
“Keep it somewhere secure. Don't alter anything. Don't delete messages. Don't confront Xavier.””
I nodded.
Then I remembered something.
“My father had another notebook.””
Rebecca looked up.
“What do you mean?””
“He kept a smaller black notebook. It was mostly handwritten calculations and early designs. I thought it had been lost.””
“Where?””
“I don't know.””
I called my aunt Margaret.
She was my father's younger sister and the person who had helped me sort through his belongings after he died.
She answered on the third ring.
“Cedric? Is everything okay?””
“Aunt Margaret, do you remember Dad's black engineering notebook?””
There was a pause.
Then she said something unexpected.
“Why are you asking about that now?””
“Because I think someone has been trying to copy his work.””
Her voice changed.
“Where are you?””
“At a lawyer's office.””
“Don't go anywhere. I'm coming.””
An hour later, Aunt Margaret walked into Rebecca's office carrying an old canvas bag.
She was sixty-eight, with silver hair and a habit of speaking directly even when the truth was uncomfortable.
She placed the bag on the desk.
“I should have given this to you years ago.””
I stared at it.
“What's inside?””
She opened the zipper.
A black leather notebook lay beneath a folded piece of fabric.
My hands trembled when I picked it up.
My father's handwriting was on the first page.
*For Cedric. When you're ready to finish what I couldn't.*
I sat down.
The pages smelled faintly of old paper and machine oil.
Rebecca leaned closer.
“Is this the original?””
I nodded.
I turned several pages.
Then I stopped.
A diagram filled the center of the page.
It looked almost identical to the central component of my braking prototype.
Except there was something I had never seen before.
A secondary mechanical release system.
I looked at my aunt.
“Why didn't Dad ever show me this?””
Margaret sat down.
“Because he was afraid someone would steal it.””
“Who?””
She glanced toward Rebecca.
Then she reached into the canvas bag and removed a sealed envelope.
My father's name was written across it.
Underneath were three words.
*If they return, run.*
I looked at my aunt.
“What does this mean?””
Her fingers trembled.
“Your father wasn't simply a mechanic, Cedric.””
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?””
“He worked with a private engineering group before he opened the repair shop. They were developing an emergency braking system for heavy vehicles.””
I stared at the notebook.
“Why didn't he tell me?””
“Because the project ended badly. One of the companies involved claimed ownership of his research.””
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Which company?””
Margaret looked at the envelope.
“I never knew the whole story.””
She turned it over.
There was an old corporate stamp on the back.
A name.
VANTAGE INDUSTRIES.
I looked at Rebecca.
“That's Vantage.””
She nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
Margaret wiped her eyes.
“Your father spent the last year of his life trying to prove they had stolen his work.””
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a yellowed photograph.
Three men stood beside a prototype vehicle.
One was my father.
The second was a younger Dr. Bennett.
The third was a man I recognized from the company documents.
The original founder of Vantage Mobility Technologies.
But it was the handwritten note on the back that made my blood run cold.
*If anything happens to me, ask who approved the original patent transfer.*
I turned to my aunt.
“Did Dad die because of this?””
She didn't answer.
May you like
Instead, she reached for my hand.
“Cedric, there's something else I never told you.””
