check?”

“Show me the car first,” he said.

That answer made a few nearby salespeople look up from their desks.

Khloe turned to one of them, a broad-shouldered man in a fitted gray suit named Steve Harlow.

Steve had built his reputation on aggressive sales tactics and louder confidence than talent.

“Go ahead,” Khloe said.

“Uncover the Aurelion.

Our VIP client wants a viewing.”

Steve laughed openly.

“You’re kidding.”

“Indulge him,” Khloe said.

A small circle formed around the display platform as Steve strode over to the black silk cover and yanked it back with theatrical flourish.

The Aurelion Z9 emerged beneath the lights, low and sleek, its deep metallic finish reflecting the white ceiling in liquid curves.

It was the kind of car that made people forget to breathe for a second.

The old man stepped closer.

He ran his gaze across the body lines, the wheel arches, the precision of the stitching visible through the window.

He did not touch it.

He only examined it with focused attention, as if he understood what he was looking at.

Then he said, “I’d like to hear the engine.”

Steve’s smile vanished.

“You can’t even sit in it,” he snapped.

“It’s a display model, not a toy.”

The old man met his eyes.

“Then take me to your general manager.

He will understand.”

What happened next would later be replayed from security footage more than once.

Steve walked to the water dispenser near the customer seating area and filled a paper cup.

People assumed he was drinking it.

Instead, he stepped back toward the old man, paused in front of him, and with a flick of his wrist sent the water across the man’s shirt and shoes.

“There,” Steve said.

“At least wash the street off before asking about a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car.”

A couple of employees laughed.

Khloe did not stop them.

She covered her mouth with two fingers, but her eyes were bright with amusement.

The water darkened the front of the old man’s shirt.

A thin trail ran down one sleeve and dripped to the polished floor.

He looked down at the stain, then up again.

“I still need to see your manager,” he said.

There was no anger in his voice.

No pleading either.

Just a quiet statement.

Khloe, now annoyed that he would not be embarrassed into leaving, walked to reception and phoned the general manager’s office.

Victor Sterling answered on the second ring.

Victor was a man who believed leadership meant distance, that authority was measured by who had to wait outside your door.

He liked dashboards, quarterly reports, and the kind of customers who wore expensive watches before they opened their mouths.

“Mr.

Sterling,” Khloe said, keeping her tone light, “there’s an elderly gentleman in the showroom claiming he wants to buy the Aurelion Z9.

I’m fairly certain he’s wasting our time.”

Victor gave a short laugh from the other end.

“Let him entertain himself.

If he’s still there in ten minutes, have security move him along.

I’m not leaving a meeting for that.”

Khloe hung up and returned with fresh dismissal in her face.

“The manager is busy,” she said.

“Come back another day.”

“I need to see him today,” the old man replied.

Steve leaned against a desk.

“What you need is to