My heart pounds wildly as I take one cautious step after the other, careful not to trigger the comprehensive alarm system around the lab. One wrong step, and security will come rushing in to remove me from the premises.
I hold my breath as I clutch the badge I stole and hold it up against the reader, praying none of the security protocols have changed in recent weeks. “Thank God,” I breathe as the door unlocks audibly, the soft click making me look around furtively, surprised I managed to get this far at all.
My shoulders relax as I walk in, my gaze settling on the electric car propped up on a platform in the middle of the room. Each time I see it, I’m in awe all over again. It’s the first fully solar powered car that’ll be commercially available — a technological feat I’ve dreamed of since my father first brought me to work with him years ago, the plans for this exact car strewn over his desk. The technology for it didn’t exist back then, but that didn’t stop him from pursuing his dreams of a sustainable car.
I sigh as I drop my bag by my feet and reach down to grab the trusty gold colored air ratchet my dad gave me years ago. I tighten my grip and reach for the solar panels on the car’s roof with a smug smile on my face, only for that smile to wither the second my fingers brush against the cold surface.
Loud alarms begin to blare, and seconds later, security guards come storming in. I hang my head in defeat and stand frozen, my back to the door, shame keeping me rooted in place. Damn it. How the hell did they tie the security system to the car itself? I should’ve known breaking in was too easy. Should’ve known something was wrong when I breezed through the building within minutes.
“Raya Indira Lewis, would you like to explain what you’re doing in my lab?”
I turn around slowly at the sound of my father’s voice, my cheeks blazing and my heart hammering in my chest. “Hi, Dad!” My voice is filled with faux cheer, and the slight tremble gives away my nerves. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?”
Six of my dad’s private security guards surround him, three on either side, and they all share the exact same look — exasperation with a tinge of bemusement. They step aside as Dad walks toward me, his brow raised and his eyes twinkling in a way that diminishes the sternness I’m sure he’s attempting to portray. “I thought we agreed that you’d focus on your master’s degree, so why do I keep finding you in my lab multiple times a week?” He brushes my hair out of my face gently and shakes his head.
“Dad,” I begin to say, my tone defensive. “I learned something in class today that I just had to try. I think I know how to fix the solar panels.”
Dad’s expression shifts, a hint of hopelessness drowning out his brilliant blue eyes. His gaze tells me that he knows exactly how I feel — countless times, he’s stood in my shoes, certain he’d found the solution to the project we’ve invested so heavily in with nothing to show for it.
Most solar panels only store about 20% of sunlight they’re exposed to, and that isn’t sufficient for a car. We managed to double that level, but for this car to be viable, we need to get that closer to 80%. Our car just doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to, and because of that, it can’t be sold to the public.
My father and I both firmly believe that sustainable cars are the future, but neither of us had counted on the economic downturn we’re facing. Dad has done his best to hide it from me, but I know the company is on the verge of bankruptcy. People simply aren’t buying new cars these days. Luxury cars are hardly affected, but mid-range cars? They aren’t selling right now, and we don’t have the resources or expertise to move into higher end vehicles. Combine that with our heavy investment into a product that isn’t viable, and we’re left with heavy debts and low revenues that can’t shoulder them.
Day by day, I can see my father lose hope while trying his best to remain strong for Mom and me. There isn’t much I can do to help, but I can keep experimenting, and I can keep trying. If we could just turn our solar powered car into a commercially viable product, it would change everything. We’d instantly become frontrunners in not just sustainability, but in electric cars altogether. It wouldn’t just save the company — it’d bring it to new heights, the kind my father has always dreamed of.
Dad places his hands on my arms, his expression filled with just as much sternness as there is understanding. “Angel,” he says, his voice soft. “The company will be there when you graduate in a couple of months. In the meantime, I just want you to enjoy college. Make memories, Raya. Live your life. I didn’t quite understand it when I was your age either, but time truly is precious, and I can see you wasting it away working on our prototype. It’s taken enough from us, hasn’t it?” He tucks my hair behind my ear and forces a smile. “Besides, isn’t it Adam’s birthday tonight? That’s where you should be tonight, Raya. Not here, in my lab.”
Guilt steals away my words, and I look down. He’s right. I’m supposed to be at my best friend’s birthday party, yet here I am, in Dad’s lab, because I couldn’t resist trying out an idea. Adam and I grew apart a little during our undergrad at separate colleges, and I’ve been trying to remedy that now that we’re doing our master’s together, but I’ve done a terrible job of prioritizing my friendships.
“This company is your future, Raya, but it shouldn’t be your present. If I catch you here again on weekdays, I’ll bar you from entering the building altogether.”
I begin to protest, but Dad silences me with a pointed stare. “Your twenties are supposed to be filled with fun and countless regrettable decisions, Angel. I want you to live a fulfilling life. Go explore. Figure out what it is that makes you happy. Find a hobby or two. Lewis Motors can’t be your whole identity — I need to know that you’ll be okay even if somehow… if someday, the company isn’t there anymore.”
He looks away, his expression cracking. Pure torment and worry beyond anything I’ve witnessed from him before shines through for a moment, before Dad pulls himself together. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I murmur, not quite sure what I’m apologizing for. I’m not sorry I sneaked in, but I am sorry I still haven’t found a way to help him.
