He said:
“Leave.”
Sandra looked at Theodore.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I want to know he’s okay.”
Inside, Derek walked outside for a cigarette.
He saw Theodore.
“You’re still here?”
Theodore looked up.
“Waiting.”
“For your son?”
“Yes.”
Derek laughed.
“Unbelievable.”
He lit the cigarette.
“You know, I’ve been selling luxury vehicles eleven years.”
Theodore said nothing.
“I know every story.”
“Brother knows the owner.”
“Cousin is famous.”
“Dad owns the company.”
“You people always have something.”
Theodore looked at him.
Again.
“You people.”
Derek continued.
“The truth is simple.”
“You came somewhere you don’t belong.”
“You got embarrassed.”
“Now you’re trying to save face.”
Theodore lowered his eyes.
Not because Derek had won.
Because arguing with a man committed to misunderstanding you is wasted effort.
“Nothing?”
Derek asked.
“Smartest thing you’ve done today.”
He flicked ash near Theodore’s truck.
Then went back inside.
Six minutes later, a black Rolls-Royce Cullinan turned into the lot.
Derek saw it through the showroom glass.
His entire posture changed.
He straightened his jacket.
Checked his tie.
Walked toward the entrance.
Theodore saw Elliot get out.
His son did not look toward the showroom.
He walked directly to the Chevy.
“Dad.”
Theodore started to stand.
Pain shot through his knee.
Elliot reached him first.
He looked at Theodore’s wrist.
Palm.
Knee.
Then hugged him.
Not a corporate hug.
Not the quick shoulder touch of men uncomfortable with emotion.
He held his father.
Theodore rested one hand behind Elliot’s head.
“I’m okay.”
“No.”
Elliot pulled back.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’ve been hurt worse working on transmissions.”
“That does not make this okay.”
“Son.”
“No.”
Elliot looked through the glass.
“We’re going inside.”
“I’d rather go home.”
“I know.”
“Then take me home.”
Elliot paused.
Theodore expected him to argue.
Instead:
“First I need to preserve what happened.”
That language came from the businessman Theodore raised.
Facts before reaction.
Theodore sighed.
“All right.”
They entered together.
Derek approached immediately.
“Mr. Foster.”
His smile was broad.
Warm.
Practiced.
“What a wonderful surprise.”
Elliot stopped.
“Where is the general manager?”
Derek’s smile flickered.
“That’s me.”
“Derek Whitmore.”
“Yes, sir.”
Elliot pointed toward Theodore.
“Do you know him?”
Derek looked.
His face changed slowly.
Not yet comprehension.
Just concern.
“That gentleman came in earlier claiming…”
“He said he was my father.”