One hot summer afternoon, a sleek red Ford Mustang roared into their neighborhood before sputtering to a halt right in front of Nia’s house. Smoke billowed from under the hood, and the driver—a sharply dressed man in his late 50s named Richard Harrington—stepped out in frustration. Richard was a self-made millionaire, the owner of a successful tech company, known for his luxury cars and high-stakes lifestyle. He was on his way to an important business meeting when his prized 1967 Mustang GT broke down in this unfamiliar part of town. His phone had no signal, and there wasn’t a tow truck in sight.
Richard popped the hood, staring helplessly at the engine. He knew nothing about cars beyond driving them. That’s when Nia, walking home from school with her backpack slung over one shoulder, noticed the stranded vehicle.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said politely, approaching him. “Your car sounds like it’s got a bad alternator or maybe a busted serpentine belt. I can take a look if you want.”