Ethan stared.
“How did you know that?”
The man's smile deepened.
“Because the previous version overheated during extended track sessions in hot climates.”
“That information wasn't exactly public.”
“No.”
Ethan waited.
The man offered nothing more.
He gently placed his fingertips against the silver hood.
His hand moved only a few inches across the paint.
There was affection in the gesture.
Not greed.
Not envy.
Something closer to pride.
Ethan noticed his eyes.
For a brief moment, they looked almost sad.
“What is it?” Ethan asked.
The stranger looked at him.
“Nothing.”
“You looked like you remembered something.”
The old man glanced again at the car.
“Cars remember the people who build them.”
Ethan smiled.
“I don't think that's scientifically accurate.”
“Neither is nostalgia.”
Before Ethan could reply, an angry voice cut across the showroom.
“What is going on?”
Ethan's expression changed immediately.
Richard Coleman was walking toward them.
The click of his shoes struck the marble floor like a warning.
He looked first at Ethan.
Then at the old man.
Then at the hand resting on the hood.
Richard's face hardened.
“Take your hand off the car.”
The old man slowly removed it.
Richard stopped several feet away.
His eyes traveled openly from the stranger's hair to his jacket, torn jeans, and dusty boots.
“What are you doing in here?”
The old man answered calmly.
“Looking at cars.”
Richard turned toward Ethan.
“And why are you encouraging this?”
Ethan frowned.
“Encouraging what?”
Richard pointed toward the Aeron.
“That car costs more than four hundred thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“Then why is he touching it?”
The stranger looked at Richard.
“I touched the hood.”
Richard ignored him.
“Ethan, where is security?”
“He hasn't done anything.”
Richard's voice sharpened.
“I didn't ask whether he had done anything.”
Several conversations around the showroom began fading away.
Customers were watching now.
Richard noticed.
Instead of lowering his voice, he seemed to become even more determined to demonstrate authority.
He turned toward a security guard near the entrance.
“Mark.”
The guard approached.
“Yes, Mr. Coleman?”
Richard pointed at the old man.
“Escort him outside.”
The guard hesitated.
The old man had not behaved aggressively.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“Richard, he's just looking.”
Richard's head snapped toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“He hasn't caused any trouble.”
“He doesn't belong here.”
The words landed heavily.
Ethan looked around.
Several employees lowered their eyes.
The old man remained perfectly still.
Richard pointed at him again.
“Throw him out.”
Then, louder:
“He doesn't even deserve to stand here.”
The showroom fell silent.
Even the background music seemed suddenly too quiet.
A woman near the reception desk looked uncomfortable.
An elderly customer turned toward Richard with a frown.
The security guard shifted his weight.
Ethan stared at his manager.
He had heard Richard make dismissive comments before.
He had seen him ignore customers based on appearance.
But this was different.
This was public humiliation.
And Ethan could not pretend not to see it.
“Sir.”
Richard looked at him.
“What?”
“Everyone deserves respect.”
Richard stared as though Ethan had spoken in another language.
“What did you say?”
Ethan swallowed.
His heart had begun beating harder.
He knew exactly what could happen next.
Still, he repeated it.
“Everyone deserves respect.”
A young receptionist looked at him with wide eyes.
Richard gave a short laugh.
“Are you correcting me?”
“No.”
“It certainly sounded like it.”
“I'm saying he hasn't done anything wrong.”
Richard stepped closer.
“You've worked here six months.”
“I know.”
“I've been running luxury dealerships for twenty years.”
“I know that too.”
“And apparently you think you understand our customers better than I do.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No. I just don't think someone's clothes tell us what respect they deserve.”
Richard's expression changed.
It was no longer simple irritation.
It was wounded pride.
“If you care so much about him,” Richard said slowly, “then perhaps you can join him.”
Ethan's stomach tightened.
Richard pointed toward the exit.
“You're fired.”
Someone gasped.
Ethan stared at him.
Richard seemed almost pleased by the shock around the room.
“You heard me. Clear out your desk and leave.”
Ethan's mouth became dry.
He had rent due next week.
Student loans.
A mother he sometimes helped financially.
He had worked hard to get this job.
He needed it.
For one dangerous second, he considered apologizing.
Then he looked at the old man.
The stranger was watching him carefully.
Not asking for help.
Not demanding anything.
Just watching.
Ethan reached for the employee badge clipped to his jacket.
He removed it.
Then he walked toward the reception desk and placed it gently beside the computer.
The receptionist whispered, “Ethan...”
He shook his head.
“It's okay.”
It wasn't.
But he refused to let Richard see him beg.
He returned to where the old man stood.
“I'm sorry.”
The stranger frowned.
“For what?”