“You just gave me a speech about assumptions.”
“This isn't an assumption.”
“You have three speeding tickets.”
Jordan gasped.
“You checked?”
“I’m your aunt.”
“That's invasive.”
“Correct.”
Amara got behind the wheel.
Jordan climbed into the passenger seat.
She ran one hand over the bronze stitching.
“This color is weird.”
“It was for Grandpa.”
Jordan became quiet.
“Oh.”
“He would have liked this?”
“He would've pretended not to.”
They drove.
The engine pulled them onto the highway.
Jordan looked through the windshield.
Then toward Amara.
“Do you ever think about selling it?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Why?”
Amara smiled.
“Some things belong to the story after the bad part.”
Jordan looked confused.
Amara did not explain.
She did not need to.
The city lights moved around them.
Years earlier, a microfiber cloth had touched this seat because somebody believed Amara’s presence reduced its value.
Now the leather had creased slightly from thousands of miles.
Coffee had once spilled near the console.
Jordan had scratched a tiny section of trim with a bracelet.
Amara had driven the car through rain.
Dust.
Heat.
Coastal fog.
It was no longer delivery-perfect.
Good.
Objects were meant to be used.
People were meant to be known.
Neither should exist merely to preserve somebody else’s idea of perfection.
On the tenth anniversary of the incident, Sterling Crest invited Amara to speak at an employee training day.
She said no.
Then Ethan told her the subject.
Customer Dignity and Assumption Bias.
Amara groaned.
“That title is horrible.”
“HR wrote it.”
“Obviously.”
“Will you come?”
She did.
Not as keynote.
No stage.
She sat in a circle with thirty employees.
Different ages.
Positions.
Sales.
Service.
Detailing.
Reception.
Security.
Ethan asked:
“Tell them the story.”
Amara shook her head.
“They already know it.”
Most nodded.
The incident had become internal legend.
Amara looked around.
“What version do you know?”
One employee said:
“Senior manager mistreated you, then found out you owned the car.”
Amara nodded.
“Anyone else?”
Another:
“She judged you without checking your purchase information.”
Another:
“Security almost removed you.”
Another:
“The partnership nearly collapsed.”
Amara smiled.
“All true.”
Then:
“Now remove the ending.”
They looked confused.
“No owner arrives.”
“No keys.”
“No $842,000.”
“No partnership.”
“No CEO.”
“I'm simply a woman sitting in a car.”