Derek followed his gaze, then looked back at Walter with the particular expression of a man barely holding back a laugh.
"That one," Derek said slowly, "starts north of eighty grand before you add the trim package most people want. I'll be honest with you — you'd be better off looking at something with more mileage on it. Something a little more... in your range."
"You don't know my range," Walter said.
"I know you couldn't afford the tires on that truck," Derek said, and this time he did laugh, just slightly, just enough that the sound of it carried across the quiet showroom floor to the two other customers browsing near the sedans, who glanced over with the uncomfortable half-attention of people who sense a scene is unfolding but aren't sure whether to watch.
Walter went quiet.
It wasn't hurt that kept him silent — he had long since made peace with being underestimated. It was something closer to disappointment, the particular flatness that comes from watching a pattern repeat itself for the hundredth time. In the last hour alone, he'd realized, this young man had asked him nothing. Not his name. Not his budget. Not what he needed a vehicle for, or how many, or when. Every judgment in the room had been built entirely out of denim and dust, and not one fact.
"You haven't asked me a single question," Walter finally said, "except to insult me."
Derek's smile faltered, just barely, a flicker of doubt crossing behind his eyes before his pride reasserted itself. "I don't need to ask questions I already know the answer to," he said.
It was at that exact moment that the door to the back office opened, and Priya Anand — general manager of Sterling Motors, a woman who had spent eleven years clawing her way up from the service desk to the corner office — stepped out with a folder in hand, heading toward the front counter.
She stopped mid-stride.
Her eyes landed on Walter, and something in her posture changed instantly — the loosening of formality, the sudden brightness of genuine recognition.
"Mr. Higgins?" she said, already crossing the floor toward him with her hand extended. "I didn't realize you were coming in today — I would have cleared my schedule."
Derek's head turned so fast it was almost comedic.
"You — you know him?" he asked, the confidence draining visibly from his voice.
Priya's expression shifted from warmth to something considerably colder as she looked at Derek. "Of course I know him," she said. "Mr. Higgins owns Higgins Agricultural Holdings. He sits on the regional business council. His company employs more people in this county than half the businesses on Main Street combined."
She turned back to Walter, her tone softening again. "I'm so sorry for the wait, sir. What can we do for you today?"
The showroom had gone very quiet. Even the soft jazz seemed to have lowered itself out of respect for the moment.
Walter took a slow breath, glancing once at Derek before answering Priya.
"I came in to purchase a fleet," Walter said. "Twelve vehicles — six trucks, four SUVs, two sedans — for my transport division. I was told this dealership does fair, professional business. I wanted to see for myself."
Priya's eyes widened slightly, doing the same arithmetic Derek should have done from the moment Walter walked through the door — arithmetic that had nothing to do with a man's jacket and everything to do with what a fleet order like that would mean for quarterly numbers, for commission, for the entire branch's standing with corporate.
"Twelve vehicles," she repeated. "Mr. Higgins, that's — that's an incredible order. We would be honored."
Derek, standing several feet away now, looked like a man watching a winning lottery ticket dissolve in his hands. He opened his mouth, some reflexive apology already forming, some version of sir, if I'd known —
Walter held up a hand before he could finish.
"That's exactly the problem," Walter said quietly. "You shouldn't have needed to know."
Priya turned to Derek, her voice low but unmistakably furious.
"You judged one of the most important potential clients this dealership has ever had," she said, "because of his jacket."
"I didn't know who he was," Derek said, and even as the words left his mouth he seemed to hear how weak they sounded.
"That's exactly the problem," Priya said, echoing Walter's own words without realizing it. "You thought you already knew. You didn't ask his name. You didn't ask his budget. You didn't ask a single question that might have told you the truth, because you'd already decided you didn't need to."
She turned back to Walter, her voice returning to its warm, professional register. "Mr. Higgins, I would like to personally handle your order, if that's acceptable to you. I can have paperwork ready within the hour, and I'll make sure your fleet is prioritized for the fastest possible delivery."
Walter nodded slowly. "I'll take the twelve vehicles," he said.
For one brief, foolish moment, hope flickered across Derek's face — the possibility that this could still somehow end in his favor, that some fragment of the sale, some sliver of commission, might yet fall to him.
Then Walter finished his sentence.
"But not from him."