A Harsh Shove At The Front Door
The salesman gripped the man’s leather sleeve and shoved him toward the glass exit.
Daniel pushed again, planting his palm directly against the older man’s chest. He pointed a rigid finger at the door frame, his mouth twisted into a sharp sneer as he ordered the visitor to clear out of the showroom.
The visitor did not stagger back. He stood firmly on the polished tile floor, his weathered hands tightening around the handle of a dark briefcase.
“Take your hand off me,” the visitor said quietly. “You have no idea who you’re speaking to.”
Daniel scoffed, stepping closer until their faces were inches apart. He tapped his index finger against the worn lapel of the man’s jacket, laughing under his breath at the faded seams and grey whiskers.
Daniel grabbed the handle of the briefcase, attempting to wrench it away. The older man pulled the case back against his hip, his knuckles locked around the brass fitting.
The Sealed Leather Case
A second manager pushed open the glass office door and marched into the center of the floor.
“Daniel, step away from him,” the manager called out, quickening his pace across the white tile.
Daniel threw his hands up, pointing at the visitor. “He’s trespassing. He can’t afford anything here.”
The manager ignored the younger salesman entirely. His eyes fixed on the metal crest stamped into the corner of the leather briefcase.
The manager stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Sir, is that the original company seal?”
“It is,” the older man answered, resting the heavy case on top of an adjacent desk.
The manager reached down with both hands. His thumbs popped open the aged brass latches with a dull snap.
A Look Thirty-Eight Years Back
The manager lifted a black-and-white photograph out of the velvet interior and held it up between both hands.
The glossy paper showed a young man in a tailored suit standing in front of the very first dealership lot under a simple painted sign.
“Daniel, this man founded this dealership,” the manager said, holding the print directly in front of Daniel’s face. “Thirty-eight years ago.”
Daniel took a half-step back, his chin dropping toward his chest. His eyes shifted down to an official certificate of ownership resting on the desktop.
The manager pointed a stiff arm toward the main exit. “You’re fired, Daniel. Leave. Now.”
Daniel parted his lips to speak, but no words came out. He turned around, kept his head down, and walked past the luxury vehicles toward the street.
The older man gathered the paper from the desk, slid the photograph into the front sleeve, and clicked the briefcase latches shut.
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