Piotr Kowalski

I haven't been sleeping well lately. Every night, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with everything I’ve done. I know exactly why I can't rest, and the guilt is suffocating.

For years, I’ve run a successful garage just outside Warsaw, Poland, working on cars for all kinds of people. It started off honest enough—fixing up vehicles, dealing with breakdowns, the usual. But then, a few years back, I partnered with a car dealer who had a different kind of business. He would buy cars that were wrecked, completely totaled. I’d fix them up, make them look almost brand new, and then they’d be sold for a hefty profit. People believed they were buying a bargain. But in reality, they were buying cars that probably shouldn’t even be on the road.

I’m 46 now, and I’ve made a decent life from it. More than decent, if I’m being honest. The money was good—too good. I justified it to myself for years, thinking it wasn’t my problem if people didn’t know what they were buying. But now, that’s all crashing down.

Last week, an expert stumbled across one of our cars. It was sold as a solid, reliable vehicle, but a few checks revealed the truth. It was a pile of scrap we’d pieced back together. Now, the whole thing’s unraveling. There’ll be investigations, legal consequences. I’ll likely lose the business I spent half my life building.

It’s the regret that keeps me up at night, more than the fear of what’s coming. I got greedy. I thought I could keep doing it, keep raking in the cash without getting caught. But I knew deep down it couldn’t last. Now, every noise outside the window makes my heart race. I know what’s coming. I just don’t know when.