Marcus stood with his phone pressed to his ear, eyes locked on Jake like he was watching a potential shoplifter.
"Yeah, security? We need someone at Elite Motors. Guy refusing to leave the premises."
Jake didn't move. Water pooled around his shoes on the pristine tile. His heart hammered, but he kept his face neutral. He'd been pushed around enough for one night.
Marcus ended the call. "Security will be here in five minutes. You can leave on your own, or they'll escort you out. Your choice."
"I told you. I'm buying a car."
"Right." Marcus's laugh was sharp. "And I'm the Pope. Listen, buddy, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but this is a place of business. We serve millionaires. Actual millionaires. Not..." He waved at Jake's soaked clothes. "Whatever this is."
A voice cut through the tension. "Marcus, what's going on?"
A woman approached from the other side of the showroom. Late twenties, professional but warm. Her nameplate read Lily Chen. Jake recognized her immediately. She'd been working here six months ago. The only salesperson who'd treated him and Elena like human beings instead of inconveniences.
Marcus turned. "Nothing I can't handle, Lily. Just waiting for security."
Lily's eyes landed on Jake. Her expression shifted. Not disgust. Concern.
"Sir, are you alright?" She moved closer. "You look like you've been through something."
"I'm fine." Jake's voice came out rougher than he meant. "Just need to buy a car."
"In those clothes?" Marcus scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Lily, don't waste your time. He's leaving in four minutes."
Lily ignored him. She kept her attention on Jake. "Have you been outside long? You're soaking wet. Can I get you some water? Or coffee?"
The kindness in her voice almost broke something in Jake. After everything tonight. Elena. Victor. Being thrown in the gutter like garbage. This stranger offering him basic human decency felt like a lifeline.
"Water would be good," Jake managed.
"Of course." Lily walked to a small refreshment station near the back. She returned with a bottle and a handful of napkins. "Here. You should dry off a bit."
Marcus watched this exchange with barely concealed irritation. "Lily, seriously. We're not running a charity here."
"We're running a business," Lily said quietly. "And part of that business is treating people with respect."
Jake took the water. His hands were still shaking. He unscrewed the cap and drank half the bottle in one go. The cold helped. Cleared his head a fraction.
"Thank you," he said.
Lily smiled. "Of course. Now, you said you wanted to buy a car?"
"Three cars, actually."
The showroom went quiet. Even the jazz seemed to pause.
Marcus stared. "I'm sorry, what?"
Jake set the water bottle down. He walked past Marcus toward the center of the showroom. The red Ferrari gleamed under the lights. Beyond it, a black Bentley Continental. In the corner, partially hidden by a display, a Rolls Royce Phantom.
He pointed at each one. "That Ferrari. That Bentley. And the Rolls Royce over there. I'll take all three."
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Marcus started laughing. Not polite. Not professional. A genuine belly laugh like Jake had just told the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"Oh, that's good." Marcus wiped his eyes. "That's really good. You hear that, Lily? He wants all three. The Ferrari, the Bentley, AND the Phantom."
"I'm serious," Jake said.
"Sure you are." Marcus was still chuckling. "Those three cars total over a million dollars. But yeah, let me just write that up for you. Will you be paying cash or with your imaginary black card?"
The older couple near the Bentley had stopped pretending not to watch. They were staring openly now. The woman whispered something to her husband.
Another salesman had emerged from a back office, drawn by Marcus's laughter. He stood with his arms crossed, smirking.
"Come on, man," Marcus said, his tone shifting from amused to irritated. "Stop wasting our time. This is a serious business for serious people. Not some place where you walk in off the street looking like a drowned rat and pretend to buy million-dollar cars."
Jake's jaw tightened. He'd heard enough.
He pulled out his phone. The screen was still cracked from hitting the pavement outside the hotel, but it worked. He opened his banking app with steady fingers.
"I said I'm buying the cars." Jake turned the screen toward Marcus. "Run it. $890,000."
Marcus's smile faltered. He leaned in, squinting at the screen.
His eyes scanned the numbers once. Twice.
The smile disappeared completely.
His face went white.
"That's..." His voice came out strangled. "That can't be..."
Lily stepped closer, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes widened.
"Is that real?" she whispered.
Marcus grabbed for the phone. Jake pulled it back.
"It's real," Jake said quietly. "Now. Are you going to sell me those cars, or do I need to take my money somewhere else?"
The other salesman had stopped smirking. He moved closer, trying to see the screen. The older couple was openly staring now.
Marcus's mouth opened and closed like a fish. No sound came out.
The front doors burst open. A man in an expensive suit strode across the showroom. Sixty-something. Silver hair. The kind of presence that commanded immediate attention.
His nameplate read George Hartley. General Manager.
He must have been called the moment Jake walked in looking like he did. Or maybe someone had texted him about the commotion. Either way, he was here now.
Hartley's eyes swept the scene. Jake dripping on the floor. Marcus standing there white-faced and speechless. Lily holding a water bottle. The security guards who'd just arrived looking confused by the door.
"What's going on here?" Hartley's voice carried authority.
Marcus found his voice. "Sir, this man... he just... his account shows..."
Hartley's gaze locked on Jake. His expression was unreadable.
Jake met his eyes. Didn't look away. Didn't apologize for the water on the floor or his torn jacket or the fact that he probably smelled like a gutter.
Hartley walked over. Extended his hand.
"I'm George Hartley, general manager of Elite Motors." His handshake was firm. Professional. His eyes dropped briefly to Jake's phone, still showing the banking app. "And you are?"
"Jake Morrison."
Hartley's expression shifted. His professional mask cracked just slightly. His eyes widened a fraction.
He'd seen the account balance.
The manager's entire demeanor changed in an instant. The handshake became warmer. His smile genuine. He turned to Marcus with barely concealed irritation.
"Marcus, why is Mr. Morrison standing in wet clothes?" Hartley's voice had an edge. "Why wasn't he offered our VIP lounge? Refreshments? Why didn't anyone call me immediately?"
Marcus stammered. "I didn't... he just walked in and..."
"And you assumed." Hartley's jaw tightened. "You looked at how he was dressed and assumed he wasn't worth your time."
"Sir, I..."
Hartley held up a hand. He turned back to Jake, his smile returning. Warm now. Almost apologetic.
"Mr. Morrison." His voice dropped, becoming more personal. "I cannot apologize enough for this reception. If we had known you were coming, if you'd called ahead, we would have prepared properly. VIP treatment. Private showing. The works."
Jake said nothing. Just watched.
Hartley glanced at the phone still in Jake's hand. At the numbers still visible on the cracked screen.
His smile widened.
"Mr. Morrison, why didn't you say you were a VIP client?"