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PROLOGUE

MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

March 1906

Late for work, Reginald Oren raced across the street, the cobblestones slick froe, he ju that took up half a city block He shrugged out of his overcoat, hung it on a hook just inside the door, and quietly entered a large workroo at their desks, their attention focused on the office on the far side of the rooinald was late, and he took his seat, glancing toward the office’s open door, where Charles Rolls and Henry Royce, both dressed in dark suits, were talking to a policeman

“That looks o over at his cousin, Jonathon Payton, who sat at the desk next to his “What did I miss?”

“It’s gone”

“What’s gone?”

“The forty-fifty prototype”

“When?”

“Last night They went there this one”

Reginald leaned back in his chair as he looked around the roo what this would do to the company Rolls-Royce Limited had put all their money, and that of their investors, into this ione into the design of that, as well as a chassis meant to withstand the harsh country roads When the world see it couldn’t be done, they’d persevered And nohen they were on the verge of acco the impossible

Jonathon leaned toward hi his voice “Was Elizabeth pleased?”

“Pleased?” he said, unable to draw his gaze froinald’s wife, Elizabeth, had taken their newborn son to visit her ure out why Jonathon would bring her up at a time like this “About what?”

“About the pianoforte”