"Who's this guy?" he asked Vanessa. "Some kind of promotion?"
"Just leaving," Vanessa replied. "A visitor who took a wrong turn." Brent leaned into the camera with an easy grin.
"Hold on, everybody. My followers are going to love this. Sir, tell us how much those shoes cost. Ten dollars?" Daniel looked down at the scuffed shoes Frank's jacket almost concealed.
"Eleven," he said. "I bought them at a thrift store near my mother's house."
Brent laughed into the phone. "He's honest. I'll give him that. Honest and broke. Everybody say hello to the man who wants a Meridian coupe."
He swung the camera toward the black car, then back to Daniel. "Come on, buddy. Tell people how you plan to pay for it."
Daniel met the lens without smiling. "With money, the same way you did."
The answer drew a surprised laugh from someone at a nearby desk. Brent widened his eyes theatrically.
"He's got jokes! Vanessa, get this man a calculator so he can count his pennies."
Walt had come in from the doorway when he heard the commotion, and he stopped just behind the reception counter.
"Mr. Whitaker," he said, "please put the phone down. The man hasn't done anything to you."
Brent's smile flattened.
"Walter, stick to guarding the door. You're paid to watch, not to talk." Daniel saw Walt's jaw tighten before the older man turned to Vanessa.
"He asked to look at a car," Walt said. "That's all. There's no reason to make a spectacle out of him."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Walt, escort him outside. If he refuses, call the police and tell them he's trespassing." Walt looked at Daniel and then at the black coupe under the lights.
"Ms. Cole, he isn't causing any trouble. Maybe he just wants to look around."
Vanessa's voice became brittle.
"I'm not asking for your opinion. I'm giving you an order."
Daniel put one hand lightly on Walt's sleeve.
"It's all right. I'm not going anywhere until I've spoken with the owner." Tyler chuckled.
"The owner? Victor Sterling doesn't talk to guys like you. He barely talks to us."
Daniel turned to Walt, speaking slowly so that the name would be unmistakable. "Please tell Mr. Sterling that Frank Brooks's son would like a word with him."
Walt's expression changed so completely that Vanessa stopped speaking. The old guard stared at Daniel's face, looking for traces of someone long gone.
"Did you say Frank Brooks?" he asked. "The Frank Brooks who worked at the transmission shop on Eighth Street?"
Daniel nodded. "That's him. Did you know my father?"
Walt reached for the edge of the reception counter. He remembered a young mechanic with an oil-stained jacket, a coffee can clutched in both hands, and a boy who had stood beside him trying to be brave.