"Mr. Lang! Wonderful to see you. We've got your car ready."
The visitor smiled. "I have thirty minutes, Brad. I hope we're not starting from scratch."
"Not at all. The black sedan is waiting exactly as you requested. Our best specialist checked every detail personally."
Mr. Lang was a longtime investor and a well-known donor to a children's hospital foundation. He was wealthy and accustomed to quick service, but he disliked being surrounded by employees who confused wealth with greatness. He glanced toward Margaret standing near the brochures. "Who's the lady by the window?"
Brad didn't turn around. "Nobody, sir. A visitor who got confused about where she was supposed to go. I'll have security move her along."
Mr. Lang's eyebrows drew together. "She doesn't look confused."
"She's been browsing for an hour with no financial profile. You know how these things go. We have to protect the showroom experience for actual clients."
"Do we?" Mr. Lang asked.
Brad didn't notice the question. He was already steering him toward the sedan, talking about leather options, navigation, and a discount he had been authorized to offer. "For you, six thousand off the sticker. I've got approval ready. We can finish within your thirty minutes."
Margaret heard the figure. Six thousand dollars could be removed in a breath for a customer who appeared important, yet a folding chair and a glass of water had been too much to offer someone who did not. She watched Brad open the same door he had guarded from her and invite Mr. Lang into the driver's seat.
The inconsistency did not surprise her. She had seen it in businesses all her life, and in schools, hospitals, banks, and sometimes even charitable organizations. Rules became rigid around people with little influence and astonishingly flexible around those with money. She and Walter had never been able to eliminate the habit from human beings. They had only tried to keep it from becoming the guiding principle of their company.
Brad gestured toward an older uniformed security officer standing near the service corridor. "Hank, keep an eye on the woman by the windows. If she's here when we get back from the test drive, escort her out."
Hank Doyle had worked at the property for twelve years. He was a retired local officer with a gray mustache, sturdy shoes, and the patient expression of someone who preferred solving problems with conversation. He looked toward Margaret and saw an elderly woman standing alone with her handbag held carefully against her side. He did not see a threat.
"Yes, Brad," he said, though his hesitation was audible.
Brad collected Mr. Lang's paperwork. A test-drive vehicle was brought forward. He opened the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish and laughed when his customer reminded him to fasten his seat belt before they went anywhere. Then the car pulled away, leaving Hank at his station and Margaret alone beside the brochure stand.
For a few minutes neither spoke. The security officer pretended to review a clipboard. Margaret pretended to study a display about financing. Eventually he walked over.