And Spencer did. He let him have the whole shebang. How he’d let his remaining stock get repossessed by his creditors, how they’d auction them, and how auctions meant rock-bottom prices, except—and this was the clever part—he’d damaged the stock, so it would go for even less than trade price, because appearance was everything at car auctions. But the damage had been only superficial. All it needed was for some guy with a little capital and an eye on the main chance to step in and buy all the stock right back at fire-sale prices. Spencer could fix it back up, find a place in Oakland or Livonia, and bang they’d hit the ground running. Huge margins. Not only that but McGrath would get his Jag—and he’d get it cheaper than a Kwame Kilpatrick credit note. And it could be put against the business.

“Really?”

“Welcome to the perks of being a car dealer. They talk about win-wins in the corporate world, right?”

“They do.”

“So this would be a win-win-win.”

Spencer sat back and waited, comfortable with the silence, damned comfortable. Win-win-win—that was fucking genius. He’d thought of that on the hoof.

McGrath allowed the silence to run for the minimum amount of time necessary so as not to sound dismissive.

“I don’t want the Jag, Spencer.”

“You don’t want . . . Hell, that’s fine. You don’t have to have the Jag. You could have any one of those cars and it—”

McGrath cut him off. “Look, I’m going to pour us a coffee. While I’m doing it, I want to ask you a question. But I want you to know, before you answer it, that I don’t want any of those cars. And I don’t intend to get into car dealing.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I can most assuredly say I’m not interested in your proposition at all.”

He laughed at Spencer’s expression—a mix of crestfallen and confused. But the laugh was affectionate rather than scornful.

“So, as I was saying, this question I’m going to ask . . . Bear in mind that I may have an alternative proposition for you, one without overheads and no need to close sales but with high earning potential. How do you take it?”

“Sorry?”

“Your coffee? How do you take it?”

“Uh, black. Black with sugar.”

“Spencer, did you actually like selling cars?”

Something in McGrath’s voice stopped Spencer trying to think of a new angle. McGrath wasn’t going to change his mind, wasn’t even going to waver. And Spencer knew that McGrath already knew the answer to the question anyway.

“I guess you could say it had lost some of its shine.”

McGrath handed him a coffee and sat on the edge of his desk. “These things happen. You gotta look at the doors that open when they do.”