THE HELMET HE NEVER SOLD

Roman didn't sleep that night.

He sat alone inside the workshop with Ethan's old photographs spread across the workbench.

For seven years, the helmet had remained untouched.

It wasn't valuable because of its price.

It was valuable because Ethan had been wearing it the night he died.

Roman had refused to sell it.

Refused to lend it.

Refused to even let anyone clean it.

Now it was gone.

And someone had known exactly where to find it.

The next morning, Roman returned to the hospital.

Sophie was awake.

Leo was sitting beside her bed.

Roman stood at the doorway.

Leo immediately noticed his expression.

"What happened?"

Roman looked at him.

"Ethan's helmet was stolen."

Leo's face changed.

"Your brother?"

Roman nodded.

"Someone broke into my workshop."

Leo was silent.

Then he said,

"I know who might have taken it."

Roman stared at him.

"Who?"

Leo looked toward the window.

"My father."

Roman froze.

Leo had never mentioned his father.

He explained that his father had disappeared when he was six.

For years, Leo believed he was dead.

But three months ago, his father had suddenly contacted him.

He wanted money.

When Leo refused, the threats began.

Then Sophie became sick.

Leo believed his father had discovered that Roman was helping them.

Roman asked,

"Why would he want the helmet?"

Leo shook his head.

"I don't know."

Roman did.

He just didn't want to believe it.

That afternoon, Roman returned to the workshop.

He examined the broken window.

There were no fingerprints.

No obvious signs of forced entry.

Whoever had done it knew exactly what they were doing.

Then Roman noticed something beneath the workbench.

A small piece of black fabric.

He recognized it.

It belonged to Ethan's old racing suit.

Roman followed the trail outside.

It led toward an abandoned racetrack on the edge of the city.

The place had been closed for years.

Roman parked his motorcycle outside.

Then he entered.

The old track was silent.

Until he heard an engine.

Roman stopped.

A motorcycle emerged from the darkness.

It wasn't his.

The rider stopped several meters away.

Then removed his helmet.

Leo's father.

Marcus.

He was fifty years old.

Tall.

Lean.

Gray hair.

Cold eyes.

And he was holding Ethan's helmet.