Carol Benson spread the contract on the hood of her car, in the hundred-degree sun.

I signed it. Every page.

Through the glass, I could see the whole showroom watching. Phil Harmon with his hands on his head. Courtney sitting down very suddenly. Brent standing completely still next to the untouched champagne.

Fourteen million dollars, signed on the hood of a car, ten feet from his front door.

Carol shook my hand.

“Joe,” she said. “Rita said you had one more question for me.”

“I do.” I turned around. “Tyler. Come out here a second.”

Tyler came out of the glass doors, still holding his sponge.

“Carol,” I said, “this is Tyler Briggs. He knows more about the eCargo van than anyone I've ever met. He treats every person who walks in the door the same, whether they're wearing a suit or a sweaty work shirt. His customers write reviews about him. And he's been washing cars because his bosses say he's not ready.”

Carol looked Tyler up and down. His wet overalls. His nervous face.

“Tyler,” she said, “I'm going to need someone to look after the biggest fleet account in Desert Sterling's history. Someone who knows these vans and knows how to treat people. Would you like a job in sales?”

Tyler stared at her.

Then he stared at me.

Then he looked down at the sponge in his hand.

And very carefully, he put it down on the red carpet.