He pushed off the railing and bolted toward the floating glass staircase at the center of the showroom. He didn't walk. He didn't jog. Marcus Vance sprinted down the stairs, his leather dress shoes slapping frantically against the glass steps, taking them two at a time, nearly tripping in his desperation to reach the floor.
“Stop!” Marcus screamed, his voice cracking with panic, echoing wildly through the silent showroom. “Let him go! Get your hands off him!”
Davis froze, his hand hovering over the handcuffs on his belt. The younger guard immediately released my arm, stepping backward as if he had just realized he was holding a live grenade.
I slumped slightly against the granite desk, gasping for air, rubbing my aching shoulder as Marcus hit the bottom of the stairs and sprinted directly toward us.
Marcus practically threw himself across the final few feet of marble, violently shoving Davis backward by the chest.
“Back away!” Marcus roared, his face purple with rage. He turned to the younger guard, his finger trembling as he pointed toward the exit. “Both of you, back away from him right now, or you’re fired before you take another breath!”
The two guards stumbled backward, completely stunned. They had never seen their boss lose his temper, let alone assault his own staff.
Marcus spun around to face me. He looked terrified. He reached out, his hands hovering nervously around my shoulders as if he was afraid he might break me if he touched me.
“Arthur,” Marcus breathed, his voice shaking. “Mr. Pendelton. My god, Arthur, are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
I took a slow, deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. I straightened my posture, adjusting my twisted collar and smoothing down the front of my damp cardigan.
“I will survive, Marcus,” I said quietly. “My shoulder is a bit tender, but I am intact.”
Marcus closed his eyes for a brief second, exhaling a shuddering breath of relief. Then, he turned his head slowly. His gaze swept across the showroom, passing over the stunned customers, the panicked receptionists, and finally landing on Chloe.
Chloe was visibly trembling. She stood beside Tyler, her tablet clutched to her chest like a life preserver.
“Marcus,” Chloe stammered, taking a hesitant step forward. “Mr. Vance, I can explain. This man was trespassing. He was harassing a VIP client. He was acting aggressively. I had to call security to protect—”
“Shut your mouth,” Marcus snapped, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet, razor-sharp tone that sliced through the room.
Chloe flinched as if she had been slapped.
Marcus walked slowly toward her. I followed a few paces behind, the pain in my shoulder dulling to a steady ache as the adrenaline began to fade. Tyler stood his ground, crossing his arms defensively, trying to maintain his aura of superiority.
“Harassing a VIP client?” Marcus repeated, stopping a few feet from Chloe. He looked at Tyler. “Is this the VIP client? Tyler Brooks?”
Tyler puffed out his chest. “Yeah. That’s me. And your salesperson here was just trying to do her job. This crazy old guy was loitering around the new GT. I offered to buy it, cash in hand, and he started causing a scene. You should train your guards to respond faster.”
Marcus stared at Tyler with a look of absolute disgust.
“Mr. Brooks,” Marcus said coldly. “I know exactly who you are. You made your money developing a dating app that you sold to a conglomerate last year. You bought three cars from us in the last six months, and every time you come in here, you treat my service staff like garbage. I tolerate your money, but I do not respect you.”
Tyler’s face turned bright red. “Excuse me? Do you have any idea how much money I’m about to drop on that blue car over there? I offered her fifty grand over asking!”
“You couldn't buy that car if you offered me five million dollars,” Marcus replied.
Marcus turned his attention back to Chloe. She was shrinking under his glare, her eyes darting frantically toward the floor.
“Chloe,” Marcus said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Do you know who this man is?”
Chloe looked at me, her eyes sweeping over my worn clothes once more, searching for some hidden clue she had missed. “He… he said he knew about the car.”
Marcus let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Knows about the car? Chloe, he built this dealership.”
Chloe’s breath hitched. Tyler lowered his arms, his confident posture finally breaking.
“Fourteen years ago,” Marcus continued, projecting his voice so everyone in the immediate area could hear. “When the economy crashed, the banks pulled all my funding. I was three days away from declaring bankruptcy and locking these doors forever. That man right there, Arthur Pendelton, the founder of Pendelton Holdings, stepped in. He became my angel investor. He saved my business. He owns the mortgage on the very building you are standing in. If he wanted to, he could bulldoze this showroom tomorrow and turn it into a parking lot.”
The absolute silence in the room was deafening. Chloe’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“And that car,” Marcus said, pointing fiercely toward the Midnight Blue grand tourer. “That vehicle is not inventory. It is a bespoke commission. We spent six months fighting with the factory in Stuttgart to authorize an analog dashboard because his late wife preferred physical dials. We custom-built the passenger seat to accommodate her back pain, hoping she would live long enough to ride in it. He funded the entire development of that chassis.”