Marcus stepped closer to Chloe, invading her space.
“The tag on the dash says Hold for A.P.,” Marcus said quietly. “Arthur Pendelton. That is his car. He came here today to inspect it, and you ordered my security to throw him out into the street because you didn't like his sweater.”
Tears immediately welled up in Chloe’s eyes. Her professional armor shattered completely.
“Mr. Vance, I didn't know,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I swear, I didn't know who he was. He didn't look… he didn't tell me.”
“He shouldn't have to tell you!” Marcus exploded, losing his temper again. “A customer should never have to demonstrate their wealth before receiving basic courtesy! You judged a book by its cover, Chloe, and you just burned down the whole library. You’re fired. Clear out your desk and leave my property immediately.”
Chloe stood frozen, the tears spilling over her cheeks. She looked at me, her eyes pleading for mercy, hoping I would intervene. I simply looked back at her, feeling no pity, only a quiet sadness that someone so young had become so deeply corrupted by the illusion of status.
“I’m so sorry,” Chloe whispered, wiping her face.
“Respect should never depend on what someone appears to own,” I said softly to her. “I hope you remember that.”
Chloe turned around and walked briskly toward the back offices, her head bowed in humiliation.
Tyler shifted uncomfortably, his face pale. He looked at Marcus, attempting a weak, placating smile. “Look, Marcus, I didn't know the whole story. How about I just look at the silver convertible instead?”
Marcus pointed a rigid finger toward the front doors. “Get out, Mr. Brooks. I don't want your business today, or ever again.”
Tyler opened his mouth to argue, saw the dark look in Marcus’s eyes, and thought better of it. He turned on his heel and marched toward the exit, pushing the glass doors open forcefully and disappearing into the rain.
Marcus turned back to me, the anger draining from his posture, leaving him looking exhausted and deeply apologetic.
“Arthur,” Marcus said softly. “I don't know what to say. I am so profoundly sorry. I will personally handle your delivery today. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” I said gently. “I believe I dropped my key earlier.”
Marcus immediately scanned the floor. He spotted the heavy silver fob with the engraved E resting near the front tire of the grand tourer. He rushed over, picked it up, and wiped it carefully on his jacket sleeve before handing it to me.
“The car is fully fueled and detailed,” Marcus said, his voice returning to a respectful, hushed tone. “All the paperwork is already finalized in your name. We just need your signature on the release form, and she’s yours to take home.”
“I’d like to sit in it for a moment, if you don't mind,” I said.
“Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be in my office when you’re ready.”
Marcus bowed his head slightly and walked away, giving me the space I needed.
I walked slowly toward the Midnight Blue grand tourer. The showroom had returned to a quiet murmur, the remaining customers deliberately looking away, giving me a wide berth of respectful privacy.
I pressed the unlock button on the silver fob. The headlights flashed a brilliant white, and the locks engaged with a satisfying, heavy mechanical thud.
I pulled open the driver’s side door. The scent of rich, untouched leather washed over me. It was intoxicating. I carefully slid into the driver’s seat, the firm bolster supporting my back perfectly.
I closed the door, sealing myself inside the soundproofed cabin. The noise of the showroom vanished instantly, replaced by a deep, profound silence.
I looked at the dashboard. There were no glowing screens, no digital menus. Just beautiful, circular analog dials, framed in brushed aluminum, waiting to spin. I reached over and placed my right hand gently on the empty passenger seat. The leather was soft, exactly the way Eleanor had described it when we spent hours looking at fabric swatches by the fire in our living room.
My chest tightened, but this time, it wasn't from anger or exertion. It was the familiar, heavy ache of grief, mixed with something new. A sense of closure.
I had defended her memory. I had demanded the respect she always believed people deserved, regardless of the clothes on their backs or the money in their pockets.
I inserted the silver key into the ignition and turned it.
The powerful engine roared to life with a deep, resonant growl, vibrating through the chassis and up through the floorboards. The analog needles swept beautifully across their dials, glowing with a soft, warm amber light.
I smiled, a genuine tear finally escaping the corner of my eye and tracing a warm path down my cheek.
“We’re ready, El,” I whispered into the quiet cabin. “Let’s go for a drive.”