Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF ONE OLD GARAGE
“Four million dollars?”
Luca stared at the figure on the architectural drawing.
Matteo reached for the paper.
“That's an estimated valuation, not an actual sale.”
Evelyn kept her hand on the corner.
“Then why wasn't it disclosed in the project budget?”
“Because the transaction isn't final.”
Luca looked at his friend.
“Your warehouse was valued at one-point-two million when we started this development.”
“Property values change.”
“Not by nearly three million in eighteen months.”
Matteo's expression hardened.
“You know what that area is becoming.”
“I also know you didn't tell me you intended to sell your own property.”
Vanessa spoke from behind him.
“Luca, not every business decision is a personal betrayal.”
He turned.
“Perhaps not. But this one put my father in the street.”
Frank looked uncomfortable.
“Son, I'm still here.”
Luca immediately softened.
“I know, Dad.”
He reached for the old man's chair.
“And you're staying.”
Frank looked toward Evelyn.
“Ma'am, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“If my garage stays where it is, will those workers really lose their jobs?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Not automatically.”
Matteo interrupted.
“We've already committed to a construction schedule.”
“That doesn't mean the only solution is removing Mr. Moretti,” she replied.
Matteo shook his head.
“Redesigning the route will cost time and money.”
Luca leaned against the table.
“How much time?”
“Months.”
“How much money?”
“More than you want to spend.”
“Give me a number.”
Matteo said nothing.
I watched Frank's expression change.
He'd spent his life listening to customers describe repairs they couldn't afford.
He knew the difference between an estimate and someone trying to frighten him away from asking questions.
“Matteo,” Frank said, “you used to tell me exactly what a part cost before you installed it.”
Matteo looked toward him.
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn't a car repair.”
Frank nodded slowly.
“No. But I still deserve to know what you're asking me to give up.”
The room grew quiet.
Matteo looked away first.
Evelyn turned toward Luca.
“Forty-eight construction workers are scheduled to begin the first phase next month. Three subcontractors have already hired additional crews.”
Frank drew a sharp breath.
“Forty-eight?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his head.
I understood immediately.
For Frank, forty-eight workers meant forty-eight families buying groceries, paying rent, and hoping their paychecks arrived on time.
He wasn't thinking about property values anymore.
He was thinking about men he'd never met.
“Then take the garage,” he whispered.
Luca turned.
“Dad.”
“I'm serious.”
Frank straightened his worn brown jacket.
“I can live somewhere else.”
“No.”
“Son, your mother and I taught you not to put yourself ahead of other people.”
Luca's voice tightened.
“And you taught me not to let people be bullied out of their homes.”
Frank looked at him.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Luca pulled out a chair and sat beside him.
“I'm not choosing between you and forty-eight families.”
Matteo sighed.
“Unfortunately, sometimes business requires difficult choices.”
Luca looked up.
“Then we're going to find out who created this choice.”
He turned toward Evelyn.
“Can your firm hold its funding while we review the original route?”
“Possibly. But I need accurate cost information.”
“You'll have it.”
Matteo immediately stood.
“Luca, you can't promise that without consulting the development team.”
“I am the development team.”
“Not by yourself.”
“No. That's why I'm asking our investor instead of the man who changed the plans behind my back.”
Matteo sat down again.
I noticed Vanessa's hands tighten around her napkin.
She'd been unusually quiet since the warehouse valuation appeared.
Frank opened his suitcase once more.
He took out his old brown work apron.
Its pockets were stained with oil, and the name FRANK had been stitched across the chest in crooked white letters.
He held it toward Luca.
“Your mother made this.”
Luca smiled sadly.
“I remember.”
“She sewed your name inside too.”
Frank turned the apron over.
Near the hem was a smaller line of stitching.
LUCA — WHEN YOU'RE READY.
Luca touched it gently.
Frank smiled.
“You were eight when she made that.”
“I remember asking why mine didn't have pockets.”
“She said you'd get pockets when you learned not to lose every tool I handed you.”
Luca laughed once.
Then Frank's expression grew serious.
“I never wanted to stop being a mechanic.”
He looked toward Matteo.
“But I could've accepted retirement if you'd been honest with me.”
Matteo lowered his eyes.
Frank continued.
“What I couldn't understand was why my own son was suddenly ashamed of the place where I raised him.”
Luca pulled his father close.
“I was never ashamed.”
“I know that now.”
I stepped forward to straighten the old apron on the chair.
A folded receipt slipped from its pocket.
It was stained with grease.
I picked it up.
“Mr. Moretti, I think you dropped something.”
Frank glanced at it.
“Oh. That's from the roof.”
Luca turned immediately.
“What roof?”
“The garage roof. I kept the estimate because I wanted to know what the workers were supposed to fix.”
He handed it to Luca.
The paper listed new roofing materials, replacement flashing, and repairs to damaged supporting beams.
The amount was just over forty thousand dollars.
Luca frowned.
“I paid this.”
Frank nodded.
“Vanessa told me you did.”
Luca looked toward Matteo.
“Your company coordinated the contractor.”
“Yes.”
“When was the work completed?”
Matteo hesitated.
“The repairs were scheduled in phases.”
Luca turned back toward his father.
“Dad, did the workers finish?”
Frank looked confused.
“Finish?”
“The roof.”
Frank stared at him.
Then his face changed.
May you like
He glanced at Vanessa before answering.
“Son, nobody ever repaired that roof. The only men who came were the ones who measured the building and told me to leave.”
