Dean pushed away from the desk. "Kayla, go back to reception."
Frank raised a hand slightly, not to silence her but to let her know she did not have to protect him at the expense of herself. She saw the gesture and understood what he meant. It made her more determined, not less, because she knew this was not the first time someone had been waved away while management watched.
Chad swaggered toward the seating area beside the red truck. "Tell you what, Grandpa. Sit in that chair and pretend you own the place. You can have your picture taken for the folks back home."
Frank approached the chair without taking the bait. His knee had begun to ache from standing, and he sat for a moment, setting the coffee on the low table. He wanted to see whether Chad would let him rest and recover from the walk through the showroom. Instead, Chad snapped his fingers near the chair arm.
"Get up, old man. That chair costs more than your whole house. And don't touch the truck."
Kayla hurried around the desk. "He's seventy-six years old," she said after Frank quietly told her his age. "He's resting for one minute. Please leave him alone."
"You pour coffee for seventeen bucks an hour," Chad said, leaning close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne. "I sell trucks. Don't confuse those two jobs."
"We both work for customers," Kayla replied. "At least I thought we did."
Chad's expression sharpened. He did not like being contradicted in front of the staff he expected to supervise. "Someone making seventeen dollars an hour wants to teach me about customers? That's rich."
Dean joined him, and Kayla knew that the moment for an ordinary correction had passed. The two men were standing together now, reinforcing each other's contempt in front of people who depended on them for schedules and commissions. She felt suddenly very young, though the years of taking care of Lily had made her older than most people realized.
"One more word," Dean said, "and I'm writing you up. Back to your desk."
Frank stood. "Gentlemen, I have listened to enough about my presumed finances. Let me show you something."
He reached into his jacket and removed the envelope. It was an ordinary white envelope, softened at the corners from having been carried close to his body. He had brought a cash deposit because he wanted to pay part of the purchase in the same old-fashioned way he had paid for inventory when he first opened the dealership. The rest he planned to pay by cashier's check after reviewing the title, warranties, and delivery paperwork.