The Seattle rain was relentless, drumming a steady, freezing rhythm against my shoulders as I crossed the wide boulevard toward the dealership. I had intentionally left my old Volvo parked six blocks away near the transit center. At seventy-two years old, I found that a brisk walk in the cold Pacific Northwest drizzle was one of the few things that still made my blood pump the way it used to. I pulled the collar of my worn beige cardigan a little tighter against my neck. It was an old sweater, fraying slightly at the cuffs, with a small coffee stain near the bottom button that had survived countless trips through the washing machine. Eleanor used to tell me it was entirely inappropriate for a man of my means to wear something that looked like it had been salvaged from a thrift store donation bin.
I smiled to myself as her voice echoed in my memory. I wore the cardigan today because it smelled like the lavender detergent she used to buy. Today was entirely about her.
I approached the towering glass facade of Apex Motors, Bellevue’s most exclusive luxury automotive dealership. The building was an architectural marvel of sweeping curves, brushed steel, and floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed millions of dollars worth of European engineering. The cars inside gleamed under pristine, bright white LED lights, sitting on imported Italian marble floors that looked slippery enough to break a hip on.
I wiped my wet boots carefully on the heavy mat just inside the sliding glass doors. The immediate rush of warm, climate-controlled air smelled of rich leather, expensive espresso, and floor wax.
The showroom was relatively busy for a Tuesday afternoon. A few sharply dressed couples were being led around by polished sales associates holding sleek silver tablets. Near the back, a barista in a black apron was frothing milk at a complimentary cafe bar. I stood near the entrance for a moment, simply taking it all in. I wasn't in a rush. For the first time in three years, since the cancer had quietly and efficiently taken Eleanor from me, I felt a genuine spark of anticipation.
I began to walk slowly down the central aisle, my rubber-soled shoes squeaking faintly against the marble. I passed a vibrant red Italian supercar, a massive luxury SUV that looked like a military vehicle wrapped in diamond dust, and a sleek silver convertible. They were beautiful machines, but they were not what I came for.
Then, I saw it.
Parked in a secluded viewing alcove near the massive rear windows was a custom Midnight Blue grand tourer. It was breathtaking. The paint was so dark it almost looked black until the showroom lights caught the subtle metallic flake, illuminating a deep, oceanic blue. The sweeping lines of the chassis were elegant, classic, and completely devoid of the aggressive, jagged angles that dominated modern sports cars.
I felt a sudden, tight pressure in my chest. I stepped closer, my eyes tracing the slope of the roof down to the rear fenders.
“We made it, El,” I whispered, stepping up to the driver’s side window.
I leaned forward, bringing my face inches from the tinted glass to peer into the interior. I wanted to see the dashboard. I needed to know if they had gotten the analog dials right. Eleanor had always hated digital screens in cars. She loved the ticking of physical needles, the craftsmanship of real gears and springs.
Before I could focus my eyes on the steering column, the sharp, rapid clicking of high heels echoed across the marble behind me.
“Excuse me. Sir.”
The voice was clipped, heavily saturated with forced politeness that barely concealed a deep well of irritation.
I stood up straight and turned around. A young woman in a sharply tailored charcoal suit was marching toward me. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe, flawless ponytail, and she held an iPad tightly against her chest like a shield. A silver name tag on her lapel read: Chloe - Senior Sales Director.
“Can I help you find the exit?” Chloe asked, stopping about four feet away from me. She looked me up and down, her eyes darting from the damp shoulders of my old cardigan to my sensible, water-stained walking shoes.
I offered a polite, apologetic smile. “No, thank you. I was just admiring this vehicle. The color is quite remarkable in person.”
Chloe did not return the smile. She shifted her weight, glancing nervously over her shoulder toward a seating area where a wealthy-looking man in his thirties was drinking an espresso.
“Sir, I need to ask you to step away from the vehicle,” she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Please stop touching the glass. You are leaving smudges.”
I looked down at my hands. They were resting gently in my pockets. I hadn't touched the car at all.
“I assure you, I haven't touched it,” I said mildly. “I was only looking at the interior trim.”
“This isn't a museum,” Chloe snapped, her professional facade crumbling rapidly. “This is a high-end luxury dealership. Our clients expect a certain environment, and they do not expect to be crowded by people wandering in from the bus stop to get out of the rain. You obviously can’t afford it.”
The bluntness of her statement hung in the air. I looked at her, genuinely surprised. In my seventy-two years, I had encountered arrogance, but it was rarely delivered with such unapologetic speed.
“You believe I wandered in from the bus stop?” I asked, keeping my tone perfectly level.
“I saw you walking across the boulevard from the transit center,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I have a very important client waiting for me, and you are standing next to a quarter-million-dollar machine. It makes people uncomfortable. There’s a coffee shop two blocks down. I suggest you go there.”
Before I could formulate a response, heavy footsteps approached us.
“Hey, Chloe. Is there a problem here?”
I turned my head. The man who had been sitting in the lounge area was now standing next to us. He looked to be in his early thirties, dressed in a tight black designer t-shirt that showed off his athletic build, expensive ripped jeans, and an oversized gold watch that caught the glare of the overhead lights. He reeked of expensive cologne and unwarranted confidence.
“No problem at all, Tyler,” Chloe said instantly. Her voice transformed, suddenly dripping with warmth and deference. She flashed him a brilliant, practiced smile. “I was just giving this gentleman directions. He was just leaving.”
Tyler didn't even look at me. His eyes were completely locked onto the Midnight Blue grand tourer. He let out a low whistle, walking right past me and running his hand brazenly along the hood of the car.
“Man, you weren’t kidding,” Tyler said, completely ignoring Chloe’s earlier rule about touching the vehicles. “This color is insane. I thought you said you didn't have any of the GT models in stock.”
“We don't, officially,” Chloe said, stepping closer to Tyler and positioning herself slightly between him and me. “This particular unit was a special commission. It just arrived from the factory in Germany late last night.”