Another showed a young man standing beside it.
On the back, my father had written, “Leonard and Danny, summer of 2003.”
I did not recognize Danny.
I called Leonard’s old telephone number.
A recorded message said the line had been disconnected.
A search of public obituaries showed that Leonard had died several years earlier.
His surviving daughter, Rebecca Finch, lived in Ohio.
Nora contacted her with a straightforward question about the car’s history.
Rebecca replied the following afternoon.
Her message contained only two sentences.
“Please don’t sell that car to Victor Bellamy.”
“My brother tried to warn us about him before he disappeared.”
Chapter 11: The Photograph in the Glove Box
I read Rebecca’s message three times.
Then I called Nora.
She told me not to contact Victor and not to treat the message as proof of wrongdoing.
Rebecca might have misunderstood something from long ago.
Her brother might have disappeared for reasons unrelated to the car.
We needed facts.
Rebecca agreed to speak with Nora by video call.
I joined from Nora’s office.
Rebecca was in her late fifties, with short gray hair and a guarded expression.
She explained that her younger brother Daniel Finch had worked as a mechanic for Victor before Victor opened his current dealership.
Daniel had been talented with engines and unusually meticulous about serial numbers.
He also had a habit of keeping duplicate records when something seemed wrong.
In the summer of 2003, Daniel told their father he had discovered suspicious paperwork involving several expensive cars.
He said some vehicles were being represented as more valuable versions than their original factory specifications supported.
He had collected photographs and records to prove it.
Then he abruptly left town.
For years, the family believed he had chosen to disappear after a dispute with his employer.
Rebecca had never received a clear explanation.
She did not claim Victor had harmed him.
She said only that Daniel had been frightened before leaving.
“What does that have to do with my Mustang?” I asked.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Daniel said he hid a copy of something in a car Dad was selling.”
I felt the room become very still.
“He never told us which car,” she continued.
“But after I saw your father’s name on the old bill of sale, I remembered a photograph.”
She held up a faded print.
It showed Daniel beside my Mustang with the passenger door open.
His left hand rested against the glove box.
