Chapter 5: A Wolf Among Salesmen

The digital torpedo Alex had launched struck Sterling Motors’ sales department with the force of a depth charge. On the gleaming showroom floor, a place normally humming with forced smiles and the low murmur of negotiations, a sharp ding from the sales manager's computer broke the calm.

Don Fletcher, a man whose ambition was only matched by the tightness of his suit, squinted at the screen. A new lead had dropped into the CRM. He saw the name first: VANCE. His eyes widened. He knew that name. Harrison Vance’s company was a whale account. Then he saw the details of the submission: a one-year-old Sterling Sentinel, Apex Touring trim, barely broken in. And the reason for selling? “Considering an upgrade to the new Italian V12.”

Don practically shot out of his chair. This wasn't a lead; it was a winning lottery ticket. A high-value trade-in and a potential new sale to a client for whom price was an afterthought. This was the kind of deal that made a manager’s quarter.

"Todd!" he barked, his voice cutting across the showroom. "My office. Now!"

Todd Carlisle, the dealership's top salesman—a predator with slicked-back hair and a smile full of perfectly capped teeth—strolled in, radiating confidence. "What's up, Don?"

"Vance," Don said, simply pointing at the screen. "Kevin Vance. He wants to trade the Sentinel. It's yours. Don't screw it up. I want him in here by end of day."

Todd’s eyes lit up with the primal fire of commission. "Consider it done."

He strode back to his desk, pulling up the file. He saw the phone number—the dead-end VoIP line Alex had so carefully placed. With the practiced ease of a hunter, he dialed.

---

The call came through to Alex’s desktop, a silent notification on his screen. He let it ring twice before patching it through his headset. He didn't need a voice modulator for this; he just needed to channel an aura of supreme, unbothered privilege.

"Yeah?" Alex answered, his tone flat, as if he'd been interrupted during something far more important.

"Am I speaking with Mr. Kevin Vance?" The voice on the other end was smooth, syrupy, practically dripping with salesmanship.

"Who's asking?"

"Todd Carlisle, from Sterling Motors, Mr. Vance. I'm the Senior Portfolio Advisor who received your trade-in inquiry. I just want to say, you have a beautiful vehicle, and we are prepared to make you a very, very aggressive offer."

Alex made a show of sighing. "Listen, Todd. I'm busy. I clicked a button on a website. I don't have time for a song and dance. What's the number?"

"Of course, sir, I completely understand," Todd said, unfazed. "To give you the most accurate—and I assure you, the highest—valuation, I just need you to bring the Sentinel in for a quick, ten-minute appraisal. I can have you in and out. I'm free this afternoon, say, two o'clock?"

Alex stayed silent for a few calculated seconds, letting Todd sweat. "Fine. Tuesday. Two o'clock. If I have to wait, I'm walking. Clear?"

"Crystal, Mr. Vance! I'll have the paperwork ready and a coffee waiting for you. Looking forward to it!"

Alex hung up without another word. The first hook was set. Now, for the second. He waited exactly forty-five minutes before using a simple script to flag the ‘Vance’ lead in the dealership’s CRM as "No Contact - Follow-up Required." It was a subtle digital nudge, designed to look like a system error or a careless salesman failing to log his call.

It didn't take long for another shark to smell the blood. Barry, a veteran salesman who had long resented Todd's success, noticed the flagged lead. He saw an opening. Ignoring protocol, he copied the number down.

The second call came in. This one sounded different. Older, a bit more gravelly.

"Kevin Vance," the voice said, less a question than a statement. "Barry from Sterling. I saw your inquiry. Looks like someone dropped the ball on getting back to you. That's not how we do business here."

Alex played his part perfectly. "Someone named Todd called. Seemed a bit… junior. All talk." He let the insult hang in the air.

Barry chuckled, a low, conspiratorial sound. "Todd's a good kid, but for a client of your stature, you need a guy with experience. Someone who knows how to get the real numbers from management."

"Is that you, Barry?" Alex asked, his voice dripping with bored skepticism.

"It is," Barry confirmed. "Tell you what. Forget whatever that kid told you. You come see me. Tuesday. I'll get you a number that'll make your head spin. How's two-thirty? I'll personally clear my schedule."

"Two-thirty," Alex repeated slowly. "I'll give you fifteen minutes to impress me, Barry. Don't waste them."

He disconnected. Phase two was complete.

---

Back on the showroom floor, the carefully constructed civility shattered. Todd had triumphantly logged his 2:00 PM appointment with Kevin Vance, marking the lead as his own. Minutes later, Barry logged a 2:30 PM appointment with the same Kevin Vance.

The CRM flashed a conflict warning.

"What the hell is this, Barry?" Todd demanded, storming over to the older salesman's desk. "The Vance lead is mine. Don gave it to me."

"Funny," Barry retorted, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. "The client just told me you fumbled the call, so he decided to talk to a professional. He's coming to see me at two-thirty."

"He's my two o'clock!"

"Maybe he wants to give you a chance to fail in person before he comes to me to close the deal."

Their voices rose, attracting the attention of the entire sales floor. Don Fletcher stormed out of his office, his face turning a dangerous shade of crimson. "What is going on out here? Are you two trying to sabotage a platinum lead?"

They both started talking at once, a cacophony of accusation and defense. The dealership's internal communication hadn't just broken down; it had devolved into a public shouting match. They were fighting over a ghost, tearing each other apart for a phantom commission Alex had manufactured from thin air.

---

Miles away, on the sun-drenched deck of a yacht club, the real Kevin Vance was complaining to a friend about the temperature of his champagne. His phone buzzed, displaying an unknown number. With a sigh of profound irritation, he answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Mr. Vance? This is Mark from Sterling Motors." The voice was young, nervous. A junior salesman who'd seen the internal commotion and decided to take a wild shot. "I'm just calling about your trade-in request for the Sentinel. I know you've probably spoken to Todd and Barry, but I want you to know I can beat any offer they give you. I'm authorized to go as high as—"

"Trade-in?" Kevin cut him off, his voice laced with confusion and rising anger. "What are you talking about? I'm not selling my car."

"Oh," the salesman stammered. "But… the online submission… for the Italian V12?"

"I don't know anything about an online submission," Kevin snapped, his legendary short temper igniting. "Who is this? Who gave you my number? This is the third call I've gotten from you people today! Take my name off whatever list you have and stop calling me!"

He ended the call with a vicious jab of his thumb, his face contorted in a mask of fury. The blissful, frictionless existence he believed was his birthright had just been scraped by the grit of the real world. Someone at that dealership was using his name, wasting his time, and annoying him.

And Kevin Vance was not a man who tolerated being annoyed. He was going to find out what was going on. And someone was going to pay.