Manager Told A Woman In Worn Sneakers To Leave—Until She Asked What The Whole Showroom Cost!
Chapter 1 - The Inventory Value
“The test,” Ethan had said over the phone hours earlier. “You’re testing people again.”
Ariana stood between the black Arden V12 and Marcus Hale, her hands resting easily in the pockets of her oversized gray sweatshirt.
Marcus checked his gold watch, tilting his head with dismissive amusement.
“Look, Miss,” Marcus said, lowering his chin. “I don't have all morning to debate retail philosophy with someone whose shoes have seen better decades.”
Daniel stepped forward, his tie slightly askew. “Mr. Hale, she was only looking at the stitchwork on the console.”
“Go back to your desk, Daniel,” Marcus snapped without looking at him. “You’ve missed your monthly quota two quarters in a row. You don’t get to coach me on client profiling.”
Ariana let her gaze drift past Marcus toward the pristine showroom.
Twenty-eight vehicles sat under the recessed LED spotlights.
Two Arden coupes.
Four imported Italian SUVs.
A row of customized German sedans with carbon-ceramic brakes gleaming through forged alloy wheels.
“What’s the total inventory value on this floor right now?” Ariana asked.
Her voice was entirely even, devoid of anger or trembling.
Marcus let out a short, nasal bark of laughter.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard the question,” Ariana said, tilting her head slightly. “The floor inventory. What is it worth?”
The elderly couple near the silver SUV stepped closer, their curiosity completely overtaking their discretion.
Marcus crossed his arms, leaning back on his heels with absolute arrogance.
“The floor inventory sits at sixteen point four million dollars,” Marcus said, pronouncing each syllable like an insult. “Not that the figure means anything to someone who probably needed three buses to reach North Scottsdale.”
“Sixteen point four,” Ariana repeated softly.
She slipped one hand from her pocket, revealing a battered leather key fob.
She set it onto the wide glass desk beside the Arden coupe with a muted clack.
“And the real estate?” she asked. “The commercial lot, the service bays, the franchise licensing?”
Marcus’s smirk hardened into cold irritation.
“Are you delusional, or just wasting my staff’s time on purpose?” Marcus hissed, taking half a step toward her. “I am calling private security to escort you to the curb.”
He reached inside his charcoal jacket for his radio.
Before his fingers touched the plastic casing, the glass doors to the main executive office swung open, and an older man in a navy pinstripe suit stepped out onto the polished white tile.
