Mason stepped closer.
"Sir, there are used motorcycle dealerships four blocks from here. There's also a truck lot across the highway."
He smiled.
"Those might be a better fit."
The room became quieter.
Caleb looked at him.
Not angry.
Not embarrassed.
Just tired.
"You think I wandered in from the street?"
Mason glanced through the glass.
"From the parking lot, technically."
Someone laughed.
Mason smiled.
He thought he had won.
He had no idea what was about to happen.
Naomi Knows
Behind the finance desk sat Naomi Price.
She had worked at Bellmont for five years.
She knew every major account.
Every financing partner.
Every manufacturer allocation.
Every customer who had placed a deposit on a vehicle worth more than a house.
And she knew exactly whose name was attached to the Sterling V12.
Caleb Mercer.
She had personally processed the deposit.
She knew the acquisition code.
She knew the corporate account.
She knew Mercer Motion Group.
What she didn't know was what Caleb looked like.
Until now.
She looked from Caleb to Mason.
Then back to Caleb.
Her stomach tightened.
"Mason," she said quietly.
He ignored her.
"Mason."
"What?"
"May I speak with you for a second?"
"Not now."
Naomi stood.
"Mason, seriously."
He turned toward her.
"I said not now."
His voice was sharp enough to make her stop.
Caleb noticed.
He noticed everything.
Men who survived bad roads learned to hear the small things before the obvious ones.
Naomi wasn't the problem.
Mason was.
And Caleb had already seen enough.
Mason turned back.
"You people love walking into places like this thinking intimidation works."
Caleb raised an eyebrow.
"Big bike. Big beard. Big attitude."
Mason shook his head.
"But this isn't a roadside bar, and I'm not impressed."
A customer near a navy convertible pulled out his phone.
His wife touched his arm.
He kept recording.
Caleb looked at Mason.
"Are you done?"
"I'll be done when you leave."
Caleb placed his satchel on the marble counter.
It landed with a heavy thud.
Mason flinched.
Caleb opened it.
The first thing inside was not cash.
It was a leather folder bearing the Mercer Motion Group seal.
Naomi saw it.
Her face changed.
"Oh no."
Mason heard her.
"What?"
Caleb removed the folder.
He opened it.
Then placed one document on the counter.
Mason looked down.
Manufacturer allocation.
Second document.
Deposit confirmation.
Third.
Corporate title instructions.
Fourth.
Certified funds verification.
Then Caleb removed the sealed envelope.
He opened it.
Inside was a letter printed on Mercer Motion Group executive stationery.
Caleb turned it around.
"Read the signature."
Mason leaned closer.
His eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
Caleb Mercer.
Founder and Chief Executive Officer.
Mercer Motion Group.
Mason froze.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
He looked at the name.
Then Caleb.
Then the vest.
Then the Harley outside.
His face slowly lost its color.
"You're..."
He swallowed.
"Mr. Mercer?"
Caleb said nothing.
Mason's voice became smaller.
"I didn't realize."
Caleb closed the folder.
"No."
He looked directly into Mason's eyes.
"You realized plenty."
A pause.
"Just not the part that helped you."
The Price of an Apology
Mason's confidence disappeared so quickly it was almost embarrassing.
"Sir, I apologize if there was a misunderstanding."
Caleb stared at him.
"That's not an apology."
Mason blinked.
"What?"
"You said 'if.'"
Caleb tapped the folder.
"You don't apologize for what you did. You apologize for getting caught."