Diane’s office overlooked the showroom through a wall of glass. She closed the blinds halfway, not enough to turn the room secretive, but enough to give Emily some privacy. A framed photograph of the first Ashford Motors dealership hung behind the desk. Beside it was a photograph of Diane at a Dalton Veterans Foundation vehicle-donation event six years earlier.
Emily noticed the picture.
“That’s you,” she said.
Diane glanced over. “It is. Your grandfather made me stand in the photograph even though I told him the veterans should be the focus.”
“I did not make you,” Frank said.
“You absolutely did.”
“I strongly encouraged.”
“That is what powerful men call making people do things politely.”
Emily laughed.
Frank lifted both hands. “I stand corrected.”
For a moment, the morning became normal again.
Diane ordered sandwiches from a café next door and asked an assistant to bring them to the office. Frank tried to pay. Diane refused. He insisted it not be charged to the dealership as some kind of executive hospitality expense. She finally told him the café owner still owed her lunch from a charity auction, which ended the argument.
Once they were seated, Diane looked at Frank with real concern.
“I wish you’d called me.”
“I know.”
“Not because I wanted special treatment. Because I would have liked to prevent this.”
Frank nodded. “I know that too.”
Diane rubbed her forehead. “Trent has been one of our strongest producers for three years.”
“Numbers on the board suggest that.”
“You noticed.”
“I notice numbers.”
“He sells a lot of cars. Customer satisfaction scores are good after purchase.”
“After purchase,” Frank repeated.
Diane looked at him.
“That’s what I want you to examine,” he said. “Who never gets far enough to buy? Who gets redirected? Who walks out? A satisfaction survey only measures people who survive the process.”
She leaned back slowly.
Emily listened, her sandwich untouched for the moment.
Frank continued. “Your highest-volume people can create blind spots. Everyone assumes production proves judgment. Sometimes it proves only production.”
Diane nodded. “I’ll review his deal logs.”
“And Marcus?”
“He’s been here seven weeks.”
“Why is he at two units?”
Diane frowned. “He’s learning.”
“That’s what Trent said.”
“He is new.”
“Is he getting opportunities?”
Diane did not answer immediately.
Frank did not need to push.
She knew her dealership well enough to understand the question beneath the question.
Sales floors often developed invisible economies. Senior people learned where to stand, which arriving customers looked promising, which conversations to intercept, and how to justify it afterward as experience. New staff received the shoppers no one else wanted, the uncertain browsers, the people who asked too many questions, the customers who arrived in older cars or work clothes. Over time, the results seemed to prove the assumptions that created them.
The experienced salespeople sold more because they received more viable opportunities. The new salesperson sold less because the best opportunities were taken away. Then the sales board became evidence that the hierarchy had been correct all along.
Diane exhaled.
“I’ll review that too.”
“Good.”
Emily finally unwrapped her sandwich.
“Can I say something?”
Both adults looked at her.
“I don’t want this to become a giant thing because Grandpa has influence.”
Frank’s expression softened.
“What do you want?” Diane asked.
“I want to buy a car if the car is right.” Emily thought for a moment. “I want Marcus to get credit because he helped us. I want Trent to stop doing that to people. But I don’t want everyone here being terrified every time somebody in an old jacket walks in because they think it might secretly be another investor.”