Chapter 4: The Trade-In Gambit

A year is a long time to sustain a grudge. For Alex Thorne, however, it wasn't a grudge; it was a project. But like any project, it had begun to yield diminishing returns. The initial chaos his phantom appointments had caused at Sterling Motors had settled into a kind of weary acceptance. The panicked calls had stopped. The bewildered emails from service advisors had ceased. He suspected his digital ghost, ‘Kevin Vance,’ was now treated like a known system glitch, a recurring poltergeist whose antics were to be weathered rather than solved.

They had developed an immunity to his specific brand of chaos. His symphony of inconvenience had become background noise. The game, Alex admitted to himself as he stared at the dormant ‘Project Vance’ folder, was growing stale.

The nature of the emails had changed, too. The one-year mark had passed, and with it, the complimentary service period for Kevin Vance's Sterling Sentinel. The automated reminders for free maintenance had dried up, replaced by a trickle of uninspired marketing blasts. "Is it time for a tune-up? Schedule your paid service today!" They lacked the delicious, mandatory tone of the originals. There was no obligation, no appointment to be missed or rescheduled to an absurd hour.

He was about to archive the entire folder, to declare the project a quiet success and move on, when a new email slid into his inbox.

From: [email protected] Subject: Get Unprecedented Value for Your Sterling!

Alex’s finger paused over the delete key. Curiosity, his one true vice, got the better of him. He opened it.

It was a glossy, corporate-slick piece of marketing. A stock photo of a smiling couple shaking hands with a salesman. Bold text proclaimed it was Sterling Motors’ “Annual Trade-In Appraisal Event.” They were hungry for high-quality, pre-owned inventory and were offering "top dollar" and "premium valuations" for late-model vehicles.

He read the words again. Hungry. Top dollar. Premium.

A slow, predatory smile crept across his face. He had been playing in the wrong arena. The service department was a cost center, a place of duty and obligation. Their primary motivation was to get through the day. Annoying them was like pestering a tired beast of burden.

But the sales department… that was different. The sales department was a profit center. It was a shark tank, fueled by ambition, desperation, and the intoxicating scent of commission. Their motivation wasn't duty; it was hunger.

And he was about to toss them a piece of bloody, irresistible meat.

The service department was composed of foot soldiers. He’d even felt a sliver of professional respect for their beleaguered manager, Chloe Martinez, a competent cog in a broken machine. But the sales team? They were the mercenaries, the bounty hunters of the corporate world. Unleashing chaos among them wouldn't just be disruptive; it would be spectacular.

His motivation, once a simple desire to teach a lesson in digital literacy, had evolved. This was now a challenge of a higher order: to manipulate not just a schedule, but the primal, profit-driven heart of the company itself.

He clicked the link in the email: "Click here to get a free, no-obligation estimate on your vehicle's trade-in value!"

A new form loaded, this one far more detailed and polished than the primitive service portal. It was the dealership’s digital welcome mat, designed to capture leads with maximum efficiency. Alex’s fingers flew across the keyboard, his mind already five steps ahead. He was no longer just a phantom customer; he was a master puppeteer, and he was about to add a whole new cast of characters to his play.

Vehicle Identification Number (VIN): Alex typed in the 17-digit string from memory, having pulled it from an online insurance database months ago.

Year/Make/Model: 2023 Sterling Sentinel, Apex Touring Trim.

Mileage: He did a quick mental calculation based on the initial service date. 11,250. Plausible. Low. Highly desirable.

Condition: He selected "Excellent" from the drop-down menu for both interior and exterior. He paused, then added a note in the comments field. "Minor scuff on rear passenger-side rim, otherwise pristine. Always garage-kept, professionally detailed monthly." The detail was crucial. It added a veneer of honesty, of a meticulous owner who knew his vehicle intimately. It made the bait believable.

Contact Information: He carefully entered the same email address that had started this entire affair and the same untraceable VoIP number that went to the dead-end voicemail. He was reactivating the original, corrupted data points, turning their poison into his own.

Finally, he came to the last section. A simple text box with a simple question: "Reason for Selling?"

This was the hook. This was where he would set the bait so perfectly that they would tear each other apart to get to it. He channeled the arrogant, dismissive tone of the real Kevin Vance, the man who couldn't be bothered to fix his own problem.

"Considering an upgrade to the new Italian V12. Father says the Sentinel is too 'subtle.' Need to make room in the garage. Only interested in a top-tier offer."

It was a masterpiece of sales psychology. It screamed of old money, casual wealth, and a motivated—but not desperate—seller. It hinted at a new car purchase, dangling the possibility of a "two-fer" deal that would make any sales manager's mouth water.

He reviewed the form one last time. Every detail was perfect, every field weaponized. This single submission was a digital torpedo aimed directly at the dealership's most volatile, competitive department.

With a final, satisfying click, he hit "Submit."

A confirmation page appeared. "Thank you, Mr. Vance! A member of our sales team will be in contact with you shortly."

Alex leaned back, a profound sense of anticipation washing over him. He could almost hear the digital alert firing in the sales office, see the lead appearing on a manager's screen. He wasn't just ringing a dinner bell. He had just dropped a single, perfect drop of blood into the water. Now, all he had to do was wait for the frenzy to begin.