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Calling the One Person I Knew Would Understand
I didn’t panic. Not outwardly, anyway. But inside, something shifted into survival mode.
I picked up my phone and called Jackson, a friend from my car club. He specialized in restoration work and had the kind of connections that come from years in the community. More importantly, he was someone I trusted.
“Jackson, I need help,” I said. “And it needs to be quiet.”
He listened while I explained everything: the meeting, the pressure, the surprise visits, the missing key, the footage.
He didn’t interrupt once.
When I finished, he exhaled slowly. “You’re doing the right thing by taking this seriously,” he said. “If they’re already talking about moving fast, you can’t assume your garage is safe.”
“I hate that it’s come to this,” I admitted.
“I know,” he said gently. “But you’re not the one who pushed it here.”
Then he offered what I didn’t even know I needed.
“I have warehouse space,” he said. “Climate-controlled. Secure. Monitored. We can move the cars there temporarily.”
I swallowed hard. “How fast can we do it?”
“Soon,” he said. “And quietly. We’ll use trusted people. Folks who know how to handle these vehicles properly. No drama. Just get them safe.”
The Plan That Had to Happen at Night
That evening, Jackson and I coordinated every detail.
We would move the cars after midnight to avoid attention. Each car would have a driver who knew how to handle high-value vehicles. We wouldn’t create a big convoy. Cars would leave at staggered times and take different routes.
We would document everything: where the cars went, who drove what, the condition of each vehicle, the security steps in place.
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