“Yes.”
“You know they want capitalization.”
“Yes.”
“You have it?”
“Enough.”
William looked at the financial statements Eldon brought.
“No debt?”
“Farm paid.”
“Business?”
“Equipment line, but inventory secures it.”
“You’re unusually conservative.”
“My father taught me debt is fire.”
Harlan smiled.
“Smart father.”
“He was.”
Raymond died in 1987.
Not suddenly.
His health declined over several years.
He lived long enough to see the farm debt eliminated.
Long enough to see the new shop.
Long enough to watch Roy Diedrich start work.
One afternoon, Eldon wheeled him through the shop.
Raymond could barely speak by then.
He looked at tractors.
Mechanics.
Parts racks.
Then at Eldon.
He managed one sentence.
“Don’t get proud.”
Eldon laughed.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Raymond squeezed his hand.
That became more important than any business advice.
By late 1988, Eldon knew Pruitt’s numbers better than most outsiders had any right to.
Not secret books.
Public estimates.
Industry patterns.
Real estate.
Inventory.
Franchise volume.
He knew the dealership was worth less than Dale believed.
He also knew it was worth more than the bank might eventually recover from liquidation.
That gap created opportunity.
John Deere’s regional office had concerns.
Pruitt’s market share declined.
Service scores declined.
Customer complaints increased.
A franchise is valuable only if the manufacturer believes the owner can support it.
Eldon began making calls through Harlan.
Quietly.
Never pretending revenge was the objective.
He asked:
“If that franchise became available, would Deere consider me?”
The regional representative said:
“We’d consider anybody qualified.”
Eldon sent financials.
Business history.
References.
Customer data.
No application yet.
Just preparation.
In March 1989, William Harlan called Dale Pruitt’s attorney.
He did not identify Eldon.
He said his client might be interested in acquiring:
Dealership real estate.
Parts inventory at appraised value.
Certain equipment assets.
Franchise rights, subject to manufacturer approval.
Assumption or settlement of eligible floor-plan obligations.
Dale’s attorney called.
“Who’s the buyer?”
“Client prefers confidentiality until a letter of intent.”
Dale refused initially.
Then the bank tightened terms again.
The dealership had survived.
Barely.
Survival was no longer the same as recovery.
Dale spent a week thinking.
He toured the building alone after closing one evening.
His father’s photograph remained behind the counter.
Vernon Pruitt had built the business from almost nothing.
Dale had inherited it.
That fact had always been a source of pride.
Now it felt heavier.
Selling seemed like admitting he had failed his father.
But refusing could mean losing everything to creditors.
He signed the letter of intent.
Then learned the buyer’s name.
Eldon Carver.
Dale sat in his attorney’s office holding the paper.
“You know him?”
The attorney asked.
Dale stared.
“Maybe.”
Then memory returned.
Young man.
Safety pin.
Raymond Carver’s boy.
Financing question.
Laughter.
Poor men don’t buy John Deere.
Dale felt physically sick.
He asked:
“He’s the buyer?”
“Yes.”
“He have that kind of money?”
“Apparently.”
That sentence probably hurt more than anything.