Chapter 18: The Steve Rivalry Escalates
Steve had been coming to the garage weekly now, always with a different expensive car, always with minor "issues" that never quite materialized under inspection.
Ben understood the game. Steve was maintaining presence, using repairs as excuse to stay connected to the neighborhood, positioning himself near Fiona through proximity to her mechanic. Classic infiltration technique.
What made it unbearable was watching it work.
Today's car was a BMW 7-series, gleaming black, probably worth seventy thousand. Steve pulled up at 3 PM wearing designer casual and that practiced smile that made Ben want to break things.
"Hey, Ben. Got time for a quick look?"
"What's the problem?"
"Weird clicking in the steering column. Probably nothing, but figured I'd get your expert opinion."
There was no clicking. Ben checked anyway, going through the motions while Steve leaned against the workbench and talked about Fiona.
"She's amazing, you know? So strong, handling everything for her siblings. Makes me want to be better." Steve's sincerity sounded genuine, which was impressive lying. "You've known the family a while. Any advice on, I don't know, how to really help her?"
Ben's jaw clenched. "She doesn't need saving."
"Right, no, I didn't mean—" Steve caught himself. "Just want to support her. Do things that actually matter instead of just talking."
"Then stop bringing me cars with fake problems as excuse to hang around."
The words came out harsher than Ben intended. Steve blinked, surprised, then laughed.
"Fair. You caught me. I mostly just wanted to check in, see how things are going." Steve's expression turned calculated. "Fiona mentioned you've been... helpful lately. Wanted to make sure we're on the same page."
"What page is that?"
"The 'we both care about her' page. No competition, no weirdness. Just two guys who want her to be happy."
You're a car thief running a con. I'm a transmigrant with foreknowledge and supernatural powers running different cons. We're both lying to her constantly. This conversation is absurd.
"Sure," Ben said. "We're on the same page."
Steve left promising to come back if the clicking returned. Ben watched the BMW pull away and his MacGyver Mind activated automatically, analyzing details he'd deliberately ignored before.
Scratched VIN. The number had been altered recently, filing marks visible under the dashboard. The ignition showed signs of hotwiring—scorching on wires, bypassed security system. Even the key was wrong, machined recently rather than original factory issue.
This car was stolen. Probably within the last week.
Ben stood in his garage and felt jealousy and justice war in his chest. He could report this. Anonymous tip to police. Steve would get arrested, Fiona would be heartbroken but safe from a criminal, and Ben could step in as the supportive friend who'd warned her Steve was trouble.
Or you could let Fiona make her own choices. Stop interfering based on knowledge she hasn't given you permission to use.
But Fiona's earlier warning echoed: Stay away from my family.
And Lip's assessment: You like Fiona.
And his own recognition that he was treating her like a character instead of a person with agency.
Ben pulled out his phone. Stared at it for ten full minutes, thumb hovering over the dial icon. Police non-emergency line. One anonymous tip. Let justice handle it instead of him.
He made the call.
"I want to report a stolen vehicle. BMW 7-series, black, license plate..." He rattled off details, location, suggested they check VIN authenticity. The operator took the information without questions.
Ben hung up and immediately felt sick.
He'd just sabotaged Steve out of jealousy disguised as civic duty. Used his knowledge and abilities to eliminate competition, justified it with self-righteous morality while running his own cons with Frank.
Two hours later, police arrived. Towed the BMW. Steve returned the next morning, confused and angry, demanding to know what happened to his car.
"No idea," Ben said, the lie smooth. "Was here when I left last night, gone this morning. Maybe it got repossessed? You said you owned it, right?"
Steve's expression showed suspicion but no proof. "I did own it. Someone must have... this doesn't make sense."
"You could check with DMV, see if there's a lien or something."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that." Steve looked at him directly. "You didn't see anything? Nobody around?"
"Just normal neighborhood traffic."
Steve left, and Ben felt satisfaction and shame in equal measure. He'd removed a threat, protected Fiona from a criminal's chaos. But he'd also acted from jealous possessiveness, eliminating competition under the guise of moral superiority.
Lip appeared an hour later, expression thunderous.
"Heard about Steve's car," he said without preamble.
"Weird situation."
"Cut the shit. You reported it, didn't you?" Lip crossed his arms. "Steve told Fiona the car was here, now it's impounded for being stolen, and you're playing innocent. I'm not stupid."
Ben's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "He was driving a stolen car. I just—"
"You just sabotaged my sister's boyfriend because you're jealous." Lip's voice was sharp, disappointed. "You know what's funny? You lecture people about morality, about doing right, and then you pull petty revenge bullshit like this."
"Steve's a car thief. He was going to hurt her eventually."
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just some guy trying to make a living in a fucked-up system. You know, like you with your mysterious powers and Frank's criminal partnership." Lip stepped closer. "You're running cons, fencing stolen goods, lying to everyone about who you are. So maybe get off your high horse before judging Steve for similar crimes."
The words hit like physical blows. Because Lip was right. Ben had compromised every principle he'd claimed to hold, justified fraud and manipulation, and was now sabotaging someone else while pretending moral superiority.
"Everyone's dirty in this neighborhood," Lip continued. "You, me, Frank, Steve, probably Mrs. Rodriguez's saint routine hides something. The difference is most of us own it. You're still pretending you're better while doing the exact same shit."
"I'm not—"
"You like Fiona. Fine. Be a better option. Be someone she'd actually choose instead of eliminating her choices for her." Lip's expression softened slightly. "She makes her own decisions. Has to, because she's been making them for six kids since she was a kid herself. Trying to 'save' her by controlling who she dates? That's patronizing. And she'll hate you for it if she finds out."
Lip left. Ben stood alone with the truth sitting heavy in his chest.
He's right. I've been treating Fiona like a character whose story I know, whose choices I can control. Like my foreknowledge gives me authority over her life. But she's a person. With agency. With the right to make her own mistakes.
Ben sat on his workbench, head in hands, and processed the uncomfortable realization. He'd been so focused on what he knew would happen—Steve's lies, the chaos, the eventual pain—that he'd forgotten Fiona had to learn those lessons herself.
Interference based on knowledge she hadn't earned wasn't protection. It was control dressed up as concern.
I'm becoming the thing I was afraid of. Using powers and knowledge to manipulate outcomes, justifying it with good intentions while ignoring the autonomy of people I claim to care about.
Ben pulled out his phone. Stared at Fiona's contact information. Typed a message: Sorry for being weird about Steve. Your choices, not mine to judge.
He didn't expect a response. Sent it anyway because apology was better than silence.
Three minutes later, his phone buzzed: You've been weird about everything. It's almost charming.
Not forgiveness. Not trust. But not a door slamming either. A crack of light suggesting maybe, possibly, he hadn't completely destroyed his chances.
Ben allowed himself to hope for exactly ten seconds before crushing it back down. Because hope required believing he deserved good things, and after today, after the gold scam and the Steve sabotage and every compromise he'd made, that belief felt hollow.
He went back to work, repairing an alternator that actually needed fixing, and thought about Lip's words: Be a better option.
Maybe that was the path forward. Stop trying to control Fiona's story. Stop sabotaging her choices. Just be someone worth choosing when she was ready to choose.
If she ever was.
If he didn't destroy that possibility with more interference before she had the chance.
The alternator came apart in his hands, components spreading across the workbench. Ben's MacGyver Mind showed him the problem, the solution, the path forward. If only human relationships were as simple as broken machinery.
But they weren't. And Ben was learning that the hard way, one mistake at a time.
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