"Which team?"
Grant paused. "I'd have to check."
Nathaniel nodded. "Please do. And tell us why a certified pre-owned vehicle was sold with an inspection approval that the named technician denies signing."
Grant glanced at Damian. "That sounds like a service issue."
"It is a customer safety issue," Nathaniel replied. "Service and finance are both parts of this business. I'd rather we didn't spend the afternoon tossing responsibility from one desk to another."
Damian finally spoke. "Sir, I sold that SUV. I didn't know about any water damage."
Nathaniel looked at him. "Did you review the certification before you made that claim to Mrs. Hart?"
"The car was listed as certified."
"That's not what I asked."
Damian swallowed. "I relied on the system."
"Then we need to understand whether the system was wrong and why."
Grant opened his hands. "These are isolated complaints. We sell thousands of cars a year. The overwhelming majority of customers are happy."
Nathaniel studied him. "If a restaurant serves a thousand good meals and one meal makes someone seriously ill, should the owner tell the sick person about the other nine hundred and ninety-nine?"
Grant said nothing.
"I built this company to solve people's transportation problems," Nathaniel continued. "Our size doesn't make an individual's problem smaller. It makes our responsibility larger."
Grant forced a smile. "I agree completely."
"Then you'll cooperate fully with the independent team."
"Of course."
Nathaniel looked at Damian. "And you?"
Damian felt a cold tightening in his stomach. "Yes, sir."
"Good."
They left after a few more questions. In the corridor, Grant grasped Damian's arm.
"Listen carefully," he whispered. "You sold the Hart car based on the official certification. That's all you know. Do you understand?"
Damian pulled away. "I didn't know it was damaged."
"Then keep saying that."
"What if somebody asks about the commission adjustment?"
Grant stopped moving.
"What adjustment?"
Damian stared at him. "The extra payment. You said it was a quarterly performance incentive."
Grant's jaw tightened. "We will discuss that somewhere else."
He walked away before Damian could respond.
For the first time in four years, Damian felt less like the dealership's most important salesman than a man standing alone on a bridge whose supports were being quietly removed. He looked through the showroom windows at the parking lot beyond. He wanted to leave. He wanted someone to tell him he had done nothing wrong. Most of all, he wanted to return to the day before Nathaniel Reed arrived, when the monthly leaderboard was the only truth he felt he needed to understand.
But the past was already waiting for him, printed on documents he had signed without reading closely and hidden in bonuses he had preferred not to question.
Julian Reed arrived in Columbus after dark. He had driven himself rather than take the company car, an uncharacteristic decision that left him with three hours to think about the conversation he intended to have with his father. He rehearsed reasonable arguments. The investigation should be directed by professionals. Customer safety was important, but so were the salaries of more than twelve hundred employees. Public confidence could collapse if allegations were discussed carelessly. Investors might delay planned financing. A poorly timed scandal could force the group to close its smaller branches. Each argument was true, at least in part, and Julian trusted himself to present it persuasively. What he feared was that his father would hear only the part about investors.
Nathaniel was staying at a modest roadside hotel instead of the suite reserved for him at the company's preferred luxury property. Julian found him in the restaurant downstairs, eating soup with bread and reading through a handwritten notebook. The room was nearly empty. A television above the bar played an old baseball game with the sound turned down.
"You could have called me," Julian said as he approached.
Nathaniel looked up. "Hello to you too."
Julian sat opposite him. "Dad, we need to talk."
"I ordered too much bread. Have some."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. It's good bread."
Julian took a piece almost in spite of himself. His father always did that: transformed a confrontation into a small domestic situation, then waited until the other person remembered he was speaking to a human being. Rose had been the same way, though she could accomplish it with a single look.
"Helen Ward called me," Julian said.
"Good."
"She says you've authorized a forensic review."
"I have."
"Without consulting me."
Nathaniel put down his spoon. "Julian, you run the company. But the matters under review involve people who report to your executive team. Independent scrutiny protects you as much as anyone if you've done nothing wrong."