Chapter 3: The Letter
The letter had been waiting on Carla Mendez's desk for three days. She had set it aside until the right moment, which turned out to be Wednesday morning, when Walter Sterling walked into the group headquarters with his battered briefcase and a thermos of coffee.
"Morning, Carla," he said. "Anything on fire?"
"Not yet," Carla said. She held out a cream-colored envelope addressed by hand in careful blue ink. "But you need to read this."
Walter took it, sat in the chair opposite her desk, and slid the letter out with the slow care of a man who had learned that paper could carry weight.
"Dear Mr. Sterling," he read aloud. "My name is Edith Larson. I am seventy-one years old, and I have taught school in this state for forty-three years. A month ago I came into your Scottsdale store to buy a car for my grandson's graduation. I had saved for this purchase for a very long time."
Carla watched his face.
"A young salesman looked at me, looked at my coat, and told me that the pre-owned lot was across the street. When I said I was interested in the Halcyon Sovereign in the window, he laughed. He said, and I quote because I will not forget it, 'Ma'am, that car is not for everyone.' I left your store feeling smaller than I have ever felt in my life. You should know how your customers are treated. Respectfully, Edith Larson."
Walter folded the letter with great precision. He was quiet for a long moment.
"Which salesman?" he asked.
"She doesn't name him, but I asked Elena," Carla said. "It was Chad Merrick."
"What did Elena do about it?" Walter asked.
"She apologized by phone and sent a gift basket. Edith refused it."
"She's right to refuse it," Walter said. "A basket doesn't fix being laughed at."
Carla pulled a slim folder from her drawer. "Walter, there's something else. The CSI report for the flagship came in yesterday."
"How bad?"
"Down eight points this quarter. Two quarters in a row." She opened the folder and turned it toward him. "Mystery shoppers flagged the same thing. Customers being sized up before they're greeted. One shopper wrote that a salesman looked at her shoes before he said hello."
Walter studied the numbers without expression. "Which salesman was that?"
"Most likely also Chad. The dates match his floor schedule."
"Most likely," Walter repeated. "Has Howard Pryce seen this?"
"He will at the board meeting Thursday. He'll want heads to roll, you know that."
Walter tapped the letter against his knee. "Howard always wants heads to roll. That doesn't teach anyone to look a customer in the eye."
Carla closed the folder. "What do you want to do?"
For a moment Walter said nothing. Then he stood, walked to the window, and looked out over the city.
"I'm going to visit the store," he said.
Carla frowned. "The flagship?"
"Next Tuesday morning. Unannounced."
"You want me to call Elena and set it up?"
"No." Walter turned around. "That's the whole point, Carla. If I announce it, everyone stands up straight for an hour and then goes back to looking at people's shoes. I want to see how they treat a man nobody thinks matters."
Carla's eyes widened. "You're going undercover."
"I'm going as myself," Walter said, a dry smile touching his mouth. "Worn boots, old shirt, pickup truck. Apparently that's a disguise in a luxury showroom."
"Walter, you're the owner. Someone will recognize you."
"Maybe. Let's find out." He held up the letter. "Edith Larson saved a teacher's pay for forty-three years to buy her grandson a car, and a boy in a nice suit laughed her out the door."
Carla studied him. "Elena will have a heart attack when she finds out."
"Elena's a professional. She'll recover." Walter slipped the letter into his briefcase. "One condition. You tell no one. Not Elena, not Frank, not the board."
"Howard Pryce will be furious."
"Howard Pryce can be furious on Thursday after he sees the CSI numbers," Walter said. "By then I'll have seen the showroom with my own eyes."
"What if Chad dismisses you the way he dismissed Edith?"
"Then I'll know exactly what kind of man he is," Walter said quietly. "And I'll know exactly what needs fixing."
"You've made up your mind," Carla said.
"Forty years ago I started as a lot attendant at a dealership in Tucson," Walter said. "My boss told me the first sale you make every day is respect. Somewhere along the way we stopped selling it. That ends now."
At the door he stopped. "Carla, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"When I walk into that store next Tuesday, I don't want special treatment. I want the truth."
"You'll get it," she said. "That's what worries me."