She smiled.
“Black?”
Elijah looked surprised.
“How did you know?”
“My grandfather drinks it black.”
Elijah laughed.
“Then your grandfather is a wise man.”
Maya returned moments later with a ceramic cup.
Not paper.
That detail mattered to Elijah.
She had treated him like a guest.
“Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Elijah looked toward Brenton.
“Does he always screen customers like that?”
Maya's smile disappeared slightly.
“I probably shouldn't discuss coworkers.”
“That's a good instinct.”
She looked relieved.
Elijah continued.
“Then let me ask differently.”
He nodded toward the showroom.
“Do all customers receive the same welcome?”
Maya looked at him.
The question was simple.
Her hesitation was not.
“I try to treat everyone the same.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Maya lowered her voice.
“Are you from corporate?”
Elijah almost smiled.
“Why would you ask?”
“You ask questions like somebody from corporate.”
“Maybe I'm just curious.”
She studied him.
Then whispered:
“Some salespeople prioritize customers who look ready to spend.”
“Does management know?”
Maya gave a small humorless laugh.
“That depends on what you mean by know.”
Elijah felt the anonymous letter in his jacket pocket.
Come without warning.
Come without your suit.
Then watch.
He took another sip of coffee.
“Thank you, Maya.”
Her eyes widened.
“You remembered my name.”
“Names matter.”
Then Brenton called from across the showroom.
“Maya!”
She turned.
He pointed toward the reception desk.
“You've got calls waiting.”
Maya nodded.
“Sorry.”
She hurried back.
Brenton looked at Elijah again.
This time with irritation.
As though the older man had already consumed more attention than he deserved.
Elijah looked down at his coffee.
He had been inside Sterling Crest for twelve minutes.
Already, he had learned enough to know the anonymous letter was not entirely wrong.
But he was not finished.
Not even close.
At 9:34, a black Range Rover pulled into the dealership entrance.
Brenton Cole saw it immediately.
His posture changed.
The transformation fascinated Elijah.
Seconds earlier, Brenton had looked bored.
Now he smiled broadly and moved toward the doors.
A man stepped out wearing a charcoal suit.
Maybe forty.
Luxury watch.
Expensive shoes.
Brenton opened the door before he reached it.
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to Sterling Crest.”
Elijah stood near the coffee bar and watched.
“My name is Brenton. What brings you in today?”
The man smiled.
“Just looking.”
“No problem at all. Take your time.”
Elijah almost laughed.
Just looking.
The exact thing Brenton had apparently decided Elijah did not have the right to do.
Brenton continued.
“Would you like coffee? Sparkling water?”
“No, thanks.”
“What models interest you?”
The customer pointed toward the Sovereign.
“That one looks nice.”
Brenton's smile widened.
“Excellent choice.”
Without asking a single financial question, Brenton unlocked the car.
“Please, have a seat.”
Elijah stared.
The new customer climbed inside.
Brenton opened the passenger door.
“I can show you some of the interior features.”
Elijah looked toward Maya.
She had seen it too.
Their eyes met.
She looked away.
Not because she approved.
Because she was embarrassed.
Elijah waited until Brenton moved toward a computer.
Then he approached the suited customer.
“Comfortable?”
The man smiled.
“Very.”
“Thinking about buying?”
“Not really.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow.
The man laughed.
“My wife would kill me.”
He stepped out.
“I just had twenty minutes before a meeting.”
“Then why come in?”
“I like cars.”
Brenton returned.
“Ready to look at financing?”
The man shook his head.
“No. Just browsing.”
For the first time, Brenton's smile weakened.
Still, his tone remained polite.
“Of course.”
The man left five minutes later.
No financing.
No appointment.
No purchase.
No problem.
Elijah watched the door close.
Then turned toward Brenton.
“Interesting.”
Brenton frowned.
“What?”
“He wasn't buying.”
“Excuse me?”
“You allowed him inside.”
Brenton's face hardened.
“Sir, I thought we were done.”
“I thought your policy required financial qualification.”
Brenton glanced toward Maya.
She immediately looked at her computer.
“That customer was different.”
“How?”
Brenton stared.
Elijah waited.
Finally, Brenton said:
“He looked serious.”
“And I don't?”
“No offense.”
Elijah smiled.
“People usually say that immediately before giving offense.”
Brenton exhaled.
“Look, I'm trying to be respectful.”
“Are you?”
Brenton's expression changed.
“You've been here almost half an hour, haven't asked about numbers, financing, trade-in value—”
“I asked to sit in the car.”
“Exactly.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“But not him.”
Brenton lowered his voice.
“Sir, salespeople learn to read people.”
Elijah stared at him.
“What did you read about me?”
Brenton hesitated.
“Experience.”
“Try again.”
The salesman glanced around.
Other employees were listening now.
“I don't think this conversation is productive.”
Elijah nodded.
“That's probably true.”
He stepped back.
Then said quietly:
“My father used to wear mechanic's overalls when he bought his first Cadillac.”
Brenton looked bored.
“He paid cash.”
No reaction.
“He was refused a test drive at the first dealership.”
Brenton stared.
“So he bought from the second.”
Elijah smiled sadly.
“And thirty-eight years ago, when I opened my first lot, he made me promise I'd never make a customer prove they were worth greeting.”
Something flickered across Brenton's face.
Not recognition.
Just impatience.
“Nice story.”
Elijah looked at him.
“Yes.”
“It is.”
Then he walked away.
The sales floor manager, Kevin Maddox, had watched the exchange from behind a glass office.
He was forty-eight.
Broad.
Energetic.