The turntable was wrong by three degrees. "Jonah. Are you looking at the same car I am?" Karp said. "The nose points at the pillar, not the entrance, and my buyers do not walk in to admire a pillar."
Jonah Fields hurried over, remote in both hands. "Sorry, Mr. Karp. I set it to the mark from Tuesday."
"Tuesday was a walk in crowd," Karp said. "Tonight is a private viewing. Private means money, money means theater, theater means the light hits the badge first. Turn it. Slowly. It is a three million dollar sculpture, not a luggage carousel."
The Lumen One eased around until its hood caught the late afternoon sun through the Pavilion glass. Karp lifted a hand and Jonah stopped. "There. Now she looks expensive. Kill the overheads by half, spots up. Warm, not white. White makes paint look like a hospital."
"Paula said we keep the lighting standard until close," Jonah said.
Karp finally looked at him. "Paula says many things into rooms I am not in. Do the lights."
Jonah did the lights. The showroom softened into gold and shadow, Brickell bright outside. Karp walked the perimeter, touching nothing, judging everything. He nudged the velvet rope one inch left.
"The champagne," he said.
"It is chilling in the back," Jonah said.
"Chilling is a process. I need where, and when it will be at forty three degrees in flutes, not tumblers, on the silver tray?"
"The kitchenette. Ten minutes. Flutes."
"And polish the glasses after you carry them, because your thumbs live on your hands. Understand?"
"Yes, Mr. Karp."
"Good. Stand there and understand quietly."
Karp opened the leather folder he had prepared and laid it on the glass desk, pen squared beside it. Purchase agreement, his own draft, Corvina crest borrowed from a real form, every line conveniently vague. Allocation confirmation. Delivery intent. It looked serious and committed to nothing, which made rich men feel decisive and left Karp room if questions came.
"You want that under the counter until Mr. Donovan signs in?" Jonah asked.
"Visible enough to look official, closed enough to look confidential," Karp said. "Learn the difference and you might survive here longer than a houseplant."
His phone rang. Karp saw the name, his voice warm as the lighting.
"Chase. My friend. I was just looking at your car."
A laugh came through, young and too loud. "Our car, Vince. Say it again slower so Olivia hears you later."
"Not on speaker for the next part," Karp said, still smiling for one nervous concierge. "Tonight can end with this car allocated to you. Not wait listed. Not under review. Yours. But allocation here is settled quietly, in cash, before signatures make bankers curious. Fifty settles it. Bring that, I hold the car, nobody else gets a call tomorrow."
"Marcus said the money moves by Monday," Chase said. "The loan paperwork is already in motion."
"Monday is for loans," Karp said. "Tonight is for intent. Banks admire intent after the fact. Bring the allocation in the case, arrive like a man who never asks a price, talk cash when you talk at all. Confidence photographs better than questions."
"And Olivia?"
"Bring her close to the car, not the numbers. Let her pick the stitching color in her head, imagine the valet stand. She falls for the life around the car. The car signs the receipt."
Jonah kept his eyes on the champagne tray.
Chase lowered his voice. "What if that girl from this morning is still hovering around? The quiet one near design?"
Karp laughed, short and dismissive. "Then let me handle the design girl. Staff get sentimental about prototypes. They polish them, name them, forget somebody has to sell them. If she hovers, I move her along. Keep your smile expensive."
"You are sure Paula will not block this?" Chase asked.
"Paula manages the floor," Karp said. "I manage outcomes. Paperwork is for people who need it to feel safe. You and I are past that."
"Tell me the number again. No surprises."
"Fifty, cash, quiet, tonight. The rest becomes a formal problem for people in offices. You drive out owning the only Lumen One on earth."
Chase exhaled. "Then we arrive at eight. Grand entrance."
"Grand," Karp agreed. "Grand is the point."
He ended the call and the warmth left his face. "Buyers," he told Jonah, who had not asked. "Every one wants the rules to be for other people. Say it nicely, they pay extra for the insult."
Jonah said, "Should I log the viewing the way Paula asked?"
"Log that a valued client toured the Pavilion," Karp said, sliding the folder shut. "Nothing else. Systems are filing cabinets with witnesses attached."
He stepped to the glass wall, his reflection dark against the waiting car, and rehearsed his smile.