The stranger arrived on a Tuesday.
Adam was under a pickup truck, replacing a rusted exhaust pipe, when Gus called out from the office.
“Adam! Someone here to see you. Says it's important.”
Adam slid out from under the truck, wiping his hands on a rag. The man standing in the office doorway was not a customer.
He was in his late fifties, well-dressed, with silver hair and a face that had spent too much time in the sun. He wore a tailored coat and shoes that cost more than Adam's first car. His hands were soft, uncalloused.
“Adam Kosta?”
“Who's asking?”
“My name is Arthur Pendelton. I'm a philanthropist. I'd like to talk to you about a project.”
“I fix cars, not projects.”
Arthur smiled. It was a practiced expression, warm but empty. “I know who you are, Mr. Kosta. I know what you'
