“Tyler, stop.”
He turned toward her.
“Emma, please stay out of it.”
“You can’t speak to a customer like that.”
“He’s not a customer.”
The elderly man looked toward Emma.
“Thank you.”
Then he faced Tyler again.
“How do you know I’m not a customer?”
“I’ve been doing this long enough.”
“Eleven months.”
Tyler froze.
The other salesmen looked up.
“How do you know how long I’ve been here?”
The old man folded the paper and slipped it back into his jacket.
“I pay attention.”
Tyler stared at him for a second, but irritation quickly replaced curiosity.
“Whatever. Sir, you need to go.”
The old man did not argue.
That unsettled Emma more than if he had shouted.
He simply looked around the showroom.
Not nervously.
Not helplessly.
He looked at the sales desks, the reception counter, the coffee station, the security cameras mounted near the ceiling, and the offices behind the frosted-glass wall.
It was the look of someone studying a problem.
Then a door at the back of the showroom opened.
A woman in a charcoal pantsuit stepped out carrying a tablet and a folder.
Her name was Claire Bennett, and she was the general manager of Sterling Crown Motors.
She had worked there for fourteen years.
She was known for remembering everything: customer birthdays, employee sales numbers, vendor contracts, inventory codes, even the names of longtime clients’ dogs.
She took three steps before she noticed the man standing beside the Imperial.
Her entire expression changed.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Tyler turned.
Claire stopped walking.
For half a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then she rushed across the showroom.
“Mr. Mercer.”
The old man nodded.
“Morning, Claire.”
“I didn’t know you were coming in today.”
“I know.”
She reached him, visibly concerned.
“You should have called. I would’ve—”
“That was the point.”
Claire understood immediately.
Her eyes shifted toward Tyler.
“What happened?”
Tyler’s confidence returned slightly.
“Nothing major. I was just asking this gentleman to—”
Claire turned on him.
“Stop.”
The single word cut through the room.
Tyler blinked.
Claire looked back at the elderly man.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Did someone disrespect you?”
Mr. Mercer glanced at Tyler.
“I asked about the Imperial.”
Claire waited.
“He gave me the price eventually.”
“Eventually?”
Tyler stepped forward.
“Claire, I think this is being blown out of proportion.”
She looked at him with a kind of disbelief that was worse than anger.
“Do you know who this is?”
Tyler frowned.
“A customer?”
Mr. Mercer almost smiled.
Claire did not.
“This is Walter Mercer.”
The name landed unevenly.
Emma knew it immediately.
So did one of the older salesmen.
Tyler didn’t.
Claire saw that.