Grateful for his assurance, I thanked Dietrich and ended the call, sinking back into the car seat with a heavy sigh.
Throughout the ride, Eman watched me silently, witnessing the emotional rollercoaster I was going through.
Soon, we arrived at the garage, and it was time to inform Adem about the deal.
Eman maneuvered the car with ease, aligning it outside the weather-beaten garage. The gravel crunched under our feet as we stepped out.
Approaching the weathered wooden door, its paint peeling in defiance of time, I reached into the depths of my pocket to retrieve the keys, the metal cool against my fingertips. With a decisive twist, I unlocked the door, hinges protesting faintly as it swung open to reveal the dim interior.
Inside, the faint hum of machinery greeted us, accompanied by the musty scent of old oil and dust. The vintage golf car, a relic from bygone days, sat nestled in the middle, hiding the hidden door beneath it.
