Chapter 3
The silence in the showroom grew heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the highway outside the massive glass windows. Marcus stood frozen, his grey suit suddenly looking a few sizes too big for him as the reality of the situation began to settle into his transactional mind. He had spent the last week treating Leo like human furniture, a nameless face assigned to wash the grime off cars that wealthy men would buy and trade like baseball cards. Now, that same nameless washer was staring down at a legal title that carried a valuation higher than Marcus’s annual base salary.
"Let’s step into the manager’s office," the older man said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He gestured toward the glass-walled room overlooking the service bay.
Leo looked down at the clipboard in the man’s hands. The paper was crisp, smelling faintly of old ink and government storage lockers. He reached out with fingers that felt unusually heavy, brushing the corner of the document. The ink was real. The seal of the county clerk was stamped in deep crimson wax.
"Who are you?" Leo asked, refusing to move toward the office until he had an answer.
"My name is Julian Vance," the older man replied, watching Leo’s reaction closely. "Arthur was my younger brother. We hadn't spoken in twenty years before he passed away in that small county hospital in Ohio. When the estate finally cleared probate last month, the courts mandated that I locate the primary beneficiary. It took me three months to trace your employment records from the gas station in Pennsylvania to this dealership."
Leo’s breath hitched. Julian. His uncle. A man he had only seen in faded photographs tucked into the back of a kitchen drawer—a man his mother spoke of with a tight, bitter silence whenever the past came up.
"He didn't run away because he wanted to leave us," Julian said softly, reading the doubt and lingering resentment on Leo’s face. "He ran because the men he owed money to weren't bankers. They were much worse. He left the car here, consigned through a third party before he died, hoping someone in the family would eventually find it when the statute of limitations on his bad business deals expired."
Marcus cleared his throat, trying desperately to salvage his professional standing. "Mr. Vance, ah, Julian. If there’s any paperwork adjustment needed on our end for the inventory transfer, I’d be more than happy to facilitate—"
"You can start by apologizing to my nephew for grabbing his collar," Julian said without turning his head, his voice dropping an octave.
Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Leo. The young man in the dark polo shirt simply looked at the floor salesman, seeing through the sharp suit and the rehearsed corporate smile to the small, hollow man beneath.
May you like
"Sorry," Marcus muttered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
Leo didn’t acknowledge the apology. He turned his attention back to the maroon convertible, stepping past the salesman and reaching out to press his palm against the cool metal of the driver's side door.
