"Two hundred forty thousand, if the report is accurate," Frank replied. "A lot of money for a young man."
"You sound like you're measuring something besides his sales."
"I am. Before I sign off on a salary and authority over forty people, I need to know what kind of man he is."
Gus suggested arriving together, but Frank declined. Everyone knew Gus's face from the framed photographs in the customer lounge, and Frank wanted to walk in without the room changing around him. Gus chuckled at the plan and asked whether Frank intended to wear a suit. Frank looked down at Ellen's old jacket and said that he thought it would do fine.
"Nobody in there knows your face anymore," Gus warned. "Last time you walked through the main door, Chad was probably still in high school."
"Good," Frank said. "Today I'm just a customer who wants to know the price of a truck."
Gus fell silent a moment. "And if they treat you like dirt?"
"Then I'll know who should never become manager of this place. It won't be complicated."
Frank chose to ride the city bus to the dealership. It was not because he lacked a vehicle or wanted to stage a trick; he had ridden buses for years before he could afford a reliable car, and the line still stopped near the corner where Liberty Motors had first opened. He liked to see the old neighborhood from a seat level with the sidewalk rather than from behind tinted glass. As the bus moved past hardware stores and a shuttered diner, he recognized enough landmarks to feel that he had traveled backward through time.
A woman carrying grocery bags sat beside him and asked whether he was headed to the medical center. When he said he was going to Liberty Motors, she told him the dealership had beautiful trucks but that she would never shop there again. A salesman had laughed when she asked about a vehicle that would accommodate her husband's wheelchair, then suggested she try a cheaper lot across town. Frank listened without introducing himself, asked for the date, and wrote down what she told him on a folded receipt.
He did not promise to fix the world before the next stop. He only thanked her for being specific. That was something he had learned in business: real problems often arrived dressed as small, ordinary stories from people who did not expect anyone important to listen. By the time the bus reached Liberty Motors, there were three lines of notes on the back of the receipt.
The dealership stood where the old lot had been, but almost nothing about it resembled the place Frank remembered. Glass walls rose above polished tile, luxury pickups were displayed beneath theatrical lighting, and a curved desk faced the entrance like the reception area of an expensive hotel. A forty-year