"That's my business."
Rick looked at the other customers, then back at Alan, and he laughed. Not a friendly laugh—a dismissive laugh.
"Alan, I don't think you understand how this works. I can't just order six tractors on speculation. These aren't bicycles. Each one of those is fifty, sixty thousand dollars. I need deposits. I need credit applications. I need—"
"I'm paying cash," Alan said.
The other customers stopped talking. Rick's expression changed.
"Cash?"
"Cash. I'll write you a check today for the full amount if you can guarantee delivery."
Rick sat back in his chair for a long moment. He didn't say anything. Then he shook his head.
"I can't do it."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't have that kind of inventory capacity right now, and because..." Rick paused. "Because I don't believe you have that kind of cash."
Alan felt something cold settle in his chest. "You calling me a liar?"
"I'm saying I'd need to verify funds before I committed to an order that size."
"Then verify them."
"It would take time."
"How much time?"
"A week, maybe more. And honestly, Alan, even if the money is there, I'm not sure I want to tie up that much floor plan credit for one customer, especially one who's never bought new equipment from me before."
The other customers were openly staring now. Alan stood up. He didn't raise his voice.
"Okay."
He walked out. He sat in his pickup in the parking lot for 10 minutes. Then he drove to First National Bank and asked to see the president.
The president's name was George Lindall. He'd known Alan since Alan was a kid.
"George," Alan said, "I want to know something. If I wanted to buy Hutchinson Implement, could you finance it?"
George blinked. "Buy it? The whole dealership—buildings, inventory, franchise, everything? Is it for sale?"
"It might be."
George leaned back in his chair. "Alan, what's going on?"
Alan told him the whole story: the refusal, the humiliation in front of other customers, the years of watching Rick operate on credit and arrogance while Alan built slowly and carefully.
"Here's what I know," Alan said. "Rick is overextended. His inventory is aged. His floor plan is maxed. He's behind on property taxes—I checked at the county assessor's office this morning. And I know John Deere's been quietly pushing consolidation among dealers. They want fewer, stronger franchises."
George didn't disagree with any of that.
"I've got cash," Alan continued. "I've got land equity. I've got no debt. If Rick would sell, I could run that dealership better than he does, and I could still farm."
"Why would Rick sell?"
"Because in about 6 months, he won't have a choice."
George studied him for a long time. Then he opened a file cabinet and pulled out a folder.
"I'm going to tell you something that stays between us. Rick's dealership has been on our watch list for 2 years. He's current on his loans, but barely. He restructured twice. If he has a bad winter..." George didn't finish the sentence.
"So, could you finance it?" Alan asked.
"If the price was right, yes. But Alan, buying a dealership is different from farming. It's daily cash flow management. It's inventory turns. It's warranty work and customer complaints and parts back orders. Are you sure you want that?"
"I'm sure I don't want Rick telling me no when I have cash in hand."
George nodded slowly. "Give me a few days. Let me make some calls."
3 weeks later, Rick's banker called Rick into his office. Not George—Rick banked at a different institution. But George had made calls: quiet calls to John Deere corporate, to other bankers, to equipment dealers in adjacent counties.
Rick's banker told him the truth: the dealership was undercapitalized, the floor plan was unsustainable, and Deere was looking at franchise consolidation. If Rick wanted to get out before he was forced out, now was the time.
Rick sat there feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Who told you this?"