Chapter 1: Don’t Touch That
The first thing Jordan did was slap Marcus’s hand away from the newest car in the showroom.
“Don’t touch that.””
The words cracked across the bright marble floor.
For half a second, the entire showroom seemed to hold its breath.
Marcus slowly lowered his hand.
He didn't look angry.
That was what made Jordan uncomfortable.
The Black man in faded jeans, a plain dark work shirt, and worn boots simply stood beside the midnight-blue luxury sedan and looked at the salesman who had just pushed him away.
Behind them, sunlight poured through the glass walls. Chrome reflected across polished floors. A row of premium vehicles sat beneath perfect white lighting, each one spotless enough to look untouched.
Jordan adjusted the cuff of his fitted gray suit.
“You heard me,” he said.
Marcus glanced at the car.
Then at Jordan.
“I wanted to ask about this model.””
His voice was calm.
Almost too calm.
Jordan gave a short laugh.
“About this model?””
“Yes.””
Jordan looked Marcus up and down.
His boots.
His faded jeans.
The old watch on his wrist.
Then he looked back at the car.
“You’re welcome to look at the brochure.””
Marcus nodded once.
“Thank you.””
He reached toward the door handle again.
Jordan stepped sideways and blocked him.
“I said don't touch it.””
A few feet away, Vanessa watched the exchange from beside the reception desk.
She was dressed in an elegant black suit, her hair perfectly styled, her expression polished.
And amused.
“Jordan,” she called.
The salesman turned.
“Yes, Vanessa?””
“Perhaps our guest didn't understand.””
Vanessa walked toward them.
Her heels clicked against the marble in sharp, measured beats.
She stopped beside Jordan.
“Sir,” she said, smiling without warmth, “these vehicles are displayed for qualified clients.””
Marcus looked at her.
“I understand.””
“Good.””
“I'd still like to ask about the car.””
Vanessa's smile widened.
“Of course.””
She pointed toward the showroom entrance.
“Then our best option is probably the reception area.””
Marcus didn't move.
Vanessa tilted her head.
“This showroom is for serious buyers.””
A quiet laugh came from behind the reception desk.
Then another.
Marcus heard it.
So did Vanessa.
She didn't stop them.
A Black woman working at the desk covered her mouth, pretending to cough.
Jordan leaned closer to the car.
“Look, man. Nothing personal.””
Marcus's eyes moved to him.
“Didn't sound personal.””
Jordan's smile disappeared for a moment.
Vanessa stepped in before he could answer.
“We have clients coming in today who have appointments, financing already approved, and vehicles waiting for delivery.””
Marcus nodded.
“That's fine.””
“So if you're simply browsing—”
“I'm not.””
Vanessa paused.
Marcus looked at the luxury sedan again.
“I wanted to ask about this model.””
Jordan folded his arms.
“You can ask.””
Marcus turned to him.
“What year?””
Jordan blinked.
“Excuse me?””
“What year is it?””
“Twenty-twenty-six.””
“Engine?””
Jordan's expression changed.
“V8.””
“Transmission?””
“Ten-speed automatic.””
Marcus nodded.
“Any changes from last year's model?””
Jordan gave him a skeptical look.
“You actually interested?””
Marcus looked at the car.
“Yes.””
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“Then perhaps you should tell us your budget.””
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze traveled across the showroom.
The reception desk.
The glass entrance.
The cameras mounted high in the corners.
The employees standing near the service corridor.
The cars.
One particular car.
The same one he had first approached.
His eyes lingered there for only a second.
Then he looked back at Vanessa.
“I wanted to speak to the owner.””
Jordan laughed.
“The owner?””
“Yes.””
Vanessa's smile returned.
“And why would you need to speak to him?””
Marcus reached into his pocket.
Jordan straightened.
Vanessa watched his hand.
Marcus pulled out an old black key fob.
It looked nothing like the sleek electronic remotes displayed in the showroom.
The plastic was scratched.
The edges were worn smooth.
There was a tiny metal ring attached to one corner.
Marcus walked toward the reception desk.
Vanessa followed.
He placed the key fob gently on the marble counter.
The sound was barely audible.
Click.
Vanessa stared at it.
Marcus looked directly at her.
“Could you call the owner?””
Vanessa folded her arms.
“And why would I do that?””
Marcus didn't answer.
For the first time since entering the showroom, he looked slightly amused.
Jordan came closer.
“What exactly is that supposed to be?””
Marcus picked up the key fob.
“An old key.””
Jordan scoffed.
“To what?””
Marcus's thumb moved across the worn plastic.
He didn't press anything.
Not yet.
Vanessa watched him carefully.
“Sir,” she said, “if you're trying to make some kind of point—”
“I haven't made a point.””
“Then what are you doing?””
Marcus looked at the showroom around him.
“Looking.””
Jordan shook his head.
“This is ridiculous.””
Marcus slipped the key fob back into his palm.
Then Vanessa's phone vibrated.
She glanced down.
Nothing.
A promotional notification.
She ignored it.
Marcus noticed.
He said nothing.
Vanessa looked up.
“If you don't have an appointment, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.””
Marcus nodded.
“That's fair.””
Jordan smiled.
“Good.””
Marcus looked at him.
“But before I go…”
Jordan's smile faded.
Marcus turned toward the reception desk.
His fingers closed around the old key fob.
“Maybe we should make one call.””
Vanessa's phone vibrated again.
This time, she looked down.
And the expression on her face changed.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Something closer to confusion.
Marcus saw it.
And quietly waited.
The phone stopped vibrating.
Vanessa slowly slipped it into her pocket.
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
“Everything okay?””
Vanessa forced a smile.
“Perfectly.””
Marcus nodded.
“Interesting.””
Then he pressed his thumb against the old key fob.
A tiny red light blinked once.
May you like
Vanessa saw it.
Her smile disappeared.
