Theodore pulled out his phone.
His hand shook slightly.
He called.
Six miles away, Elliot Foster was finishing a meeting about a dealership acquisition.
His phone vibrated.
DAD.
Elliot stopped speaking.
Theodore almost never called during business hours.
Elliot answered immediately.
“Dad?”
“You at the dealership?”
“I’m outside.”
Elliot smiled.
“How was the Ferrari?”
“There was a misunderstanding.”
Something in Theodore’s voice removed the smile.
“What happened?”
“The manager didn’t believe me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said I wasn’t your father.”
Elliot stood.
Everyone in the conference room became quiet.
“What did he do?”
Theodore looked at his scraped wrist.
“Nothing worth ruining your day.”
“Dad.”
Theodore exhaled.
“Security put their hands on me.”
Elliot’s voice changed.
“How?”
“They dragged me out.”
“My knee hit the floor.”
“I’m fine.”
Silence.
Not ordinary silence.
The kind that forms when anger becomes disciplined.
“Are you bleeding?”
“Little scrape.”
“Do not leave.”
“Elliot.”
“Dad.”
“Do not leave.”
“I’m coming.”
Theodore looked toward his truck.
“Son, I can drive home.”
“No.”
“You wanted me at that dealership.”
“I’m there.”
“You stay exactly where you are.”
The call ended.
Elliot left the conference room.
His executive assistant, Maya Brooks, followed.
“What happened?”
“My father was assaulted at Fifth Avenue.”
Maya stopped.
“What?”
“Call Peter Lang in legal.”
“Call HR.”
“Tell the regional operations director no one at Fifth Avenue is to delete messages, camera footage, or group chats.”
“Do not tell the store why yet.”
Maya was already typing.
“Security contractor?”
“Yes.”
“Notify them to preserve shift records.”
Elliot grabbed his jacket.
“And get EMS headed there?”
He stopped.
“No.”
“My father will hate that.”
“Have a nurse from our occupational clinic meet us.”
Maya nodded.
Elliot drove himself.
Inside the dealership, Derek was celebrating.
Not formally.
But the energy had shifted.
He replayed his video.
Brenda watched.
Kyle Jensen, the young salesman, asked Derek to send it.
Derek did.
Someone added:
“Still waiting for his billionaire son.”
Brenda stepped near the window.
Theodore was still sitting on the truck tailgate.
She took a picture.
Posted it to the group.
STILL WAITING LOL.
Sandra Hayes sat inside her car across the lot.
She watched her own recording.
Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
Derek’s insults.
Theodore asking for one phone call.
Security grabbing him.
The fall.
Sandra’s own voice telling them to stop.
She hovered over the upload button.
Then paused.
Her husband called.
“You buying the Bentley?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I think I just watched something awful.”
She told him.