"Sir? Sir, are you having a medical emergency?" the older guard asked, his aggressive demeanor vanishing into panic.
"I need to sit down," I groaned, deliberately making my breathing sound ragged and shallow. I leaned heavily against a nearby display table holding glossy leather brochures. "I need some water. Call an ambulance."
"Do not call an ambulance!" Trent barked, pointing a shaking finger at me. "He's faking it! He's trying to distract us! Just drag him outside!"
"Mr. Vance, I can't drag a man having a heart attack," the older guard argued, looking completely conflicted. "Protocol says we have to monitor him and call EMTs."
While Trent and the guard argued loudly, I scanned the immediate area. A few feet away, near the dealership’s luxury espresso bar, stood a young woman in a sharp gray blazer. Her nametag read Chloe – Client Relations. She had been watching the entire altercation with wide, terrified eyes.
She wasn't looking at Trent. She was staring directly at me.
When she saw me looking back at her, she nervously bit her bottom lip. She quickly picked up an empty ceramic coffee cup from the counter, holding a crumpled piece of white printer paper against the bottom of it. She walked briskly past the display table where I was leaning, carefully dropping the crumpled paper onto the floor near my boots before continuing toward the staff breakroom without looking back.
Trent was too busy screaming at the security guards about corporate authority to notice Chloe's movement.
I groaned again, slowly sliding down the edge of the display table until I was kneeling on the floor. I reached out with a trembling hand, acting as though I was trying to support my weight, and palmed the crumpled piece of paper.
I carefully unfolded it under the shadow of the table.
It was a printed internal email, sent from Trent Vance to the building's IT contractor.
URGENT: Dealership owner Richard Sterling is unreachable in Europe until tomorrow. As acting manager, I require the security camera network in the rear loading bay and the back service corridor to be taken offline for emergency server maintenance today at exactly 3:00 PM. Do not turn them back on until I personally authorize it.
I looked at my watch. It was 2:55 PM.
In five minutes, the cameras in the back of the building would go dark. Trent wasn't just planning to ship the car out tonight; he was physically handing it over to the smugglers in five minutes through the dealership's own loading docks.
I stood up, dropping the medical act entirely. My joints ached, but the surge of adrenaline pushed the fatigue away.
"He's fine!" Trent shouted, pointing at me as I stood tall. "I told you he was faking! Grab him!"
"I don't need an ambulance," I told the guard calmly, stepping away from the table. "I need the police. Because your Senior Sales Director ordered the loading bay security cameras disabled at three o'clock to cover up the theft of a hypercar."
Trent’s face drained of all color. He looked like a man who had just stepped off a cliff and was waiting to hit the ground. He realized I had read his email. He knew his entire elaborate scheme was unraveling in real-time in the middle of his showroom.
Desperation replaced his panic. His polished demeanor completely fractured.
"Lock the front doors!" Trent screamed at the reception staff, his voice cracking into a high pitch. "Lock down the showroom! Nobody leaves!"
"Mr. Vance, we can't lock the customers inside—" the receptionist stammered.
"Do it!" Trent roared, completely losing his mind. He turned to the two security guards, his eyes wild and unhinged. "Forget protocol! Detain this man in the basement holding office immediately! Use whatever force is necessary! If he isn't in that basement in two minutes, you are both fired!"
The heavy magnetic locks on the front glass doors engaged with a loud, final click, trapping everyone inside. The wealthy customers began shouting in confusion and fear.