“Depends how dishonest you are,” I said.
His smile barely moved.
“Then you came to the right profession.”
I almost respected him.
We showed him the Chevy. He circled it once, listened to it start, then looked at me like I’d insulted his family.
“She’s lived hard.”
“She still moves.”
“Barely.”
Dad stepped in.
“It’s a solid car.”
“It’s a prayer with wheels,” the salesman said.
Mom gasped like he’d cursed in church.
I crossed my arms.
“What can I get for it?”
He named a number so low it felt rude.
Dad exploded first.
“That’s robbery.”
“It’s market value.”
“It’s theft.”
“It’s math.”
I should’ve walked away.
Instead I looked back at the Chevy and pictured every mechanic and cashier in town remembering it by night.
“No trade,” I said. “Straight sale. Then I buy something el
