"New," Marcus interrupted quietly. "All identical."
Ryan glanced back at his colleagues. One of them was openly watching now, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Another customer, an older white man in expensive boots, had paused his own conversation to observe.
"Okay," Ryan said, his tone shifting slightly, not quite dismissive yet, but heading that direction. "Let's start with the basics. What's your name, and what's the name of your operation?"
"Marcus Webb. Webb Agricultural Enterprises."
Ryan pulled out his phone, presumably to take notes, though Marcus suspected he was also checking to see if that name meant anything. It didn't, apparently, because Ryan's expression didn't change.
"And you farm how many acres, Marcus?"
"That's not really relevant to this purchase."
"It kind of is, though," Ryan said, his smile now definitely patronizing. "These machines are designed for large-scale operations. If you're working a smaller property, you might be better served by a different model, something more economical."
Marcus looked at him steadily. "I know what I need."
"I'm sure you do," Ryan said in a tone that suggested the opposite. "But part of my job is making sure customers don't overextend themselves. Farm equipment is a big commitment, and the last thing I want is for you to get in over your head."
Around them, the showroom had grown quieter. More people were listening now, though most were pretending not to. Marcus felt the weight of their attention, the assumptions being made, the boxes being checked in their minds.
"I appreciate your concern," Marcus said evenly. "But I'm not overextending. I need 12 tractors. I have the capital to purchase them. I'd like to finalize this today."
Ryan sighed like he was dealing with someone who just didn't understand how the world worked. "Look, Marcus, I'm going to level with you. Before we waste each other's time, we need to run a credit check, verify income, look at your financials. This isn't the kind of purchase you just walk in and make. There's a process."
"Fine," Marcus said. "Let's start the process."
Ryan hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. He walked over to the reception desk and grabbed a clipboard with forms attached. When he returned, he handed it to Marcus with a pen.
"Fill these out," Ryan said. "All of them. We need to verify everything before we can move forward."
Marcus took the clipboard. He noticed that when the older white man in expensive boots had been talking to another salesman earlier, no clipboard had appeared. No mention of credit checks or verification, just handshakes and smiles. He started filling out the forms anyway. Name, address, social security number, business tax ID, bank information. He wrote carefully, clearly. While he worked, Ryan stood nearby, arms crossed, checking his phone occasionally.
"You know," Ryan said after a few minutes, "we do have a financing department that specializes in helping farmers access equipment they might not be able to afford outright. No shame in that. Most of our customers use some kind of payment plan."
Marcus didn't look up from the forms. "I told you I don't need financing, right?"
"But the numbers you're talking about, that's north of $3 million. That's not pocket change."
"I am aware."
Ryan made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh. "You're sure you're in the right building? I don't mean to be rude, but this is a serious dealership for serious operations."
Marcus finished writing and looked up, held Ryan's gaze. "I'm exactly where I need to be."
Something in Marcus' tone made Ryan pause. For just a moment, uncertainty flickered across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by professional courtesy with an edge of condescension.
"All right, then," Ryan said, taking the clipboard. "Let me run this back to our finance office. This won't take long."
He walked away, and Marcus noticed him saying something to another salesman as he passed. They both glanced in Marcus' direction. One of them shook his head, grinning.
Marcus stood in the middle of the showroom surrounded by machines that cost more than most people made in a decade. He checked his watch. 8:20. He had another appointment at 11:00. A meeting with his distribution coordinator to finalize routing for the new contracts. This dealership visit was supposed to be simple. In and out, sign the papers, arrange delivery, move on. But nothing was ever simple when you looked like Marcus and walked into spaces like this.
He thought about his grandfather, Elijah Webb, who'd bought their first 200 acres in 1955 with money he'd saved working three jobs. Banks wouldn't lend to him. Said his credit was no good, even though he'd never missed a payment on anything in his life. Said the land wasn't worth what he wanted to pay for it. Even though white farmers were buying similar parcels at twice the price with full financing. Elijah had paid cash for every acre, built the operation from nothing.
Marcus's father, Thomas Webb, had expanded the operation in the 70s and 80s, buying adjacent properties when other farmers went under. He tried to get loans for equipment, for irrigation systems, for storage facilities. Denied, denied, denied. Always some excuse: insufficient collateral, uncertain market conditions, higher risk profile. Thomas had learned to save first, buy second. Never owe anyone anything they could use against you.
Marcus had inherited that lesson. He'd also inherited the land, the reputation, and the quiet understanding that respect wasn't given freely. It had to be earned a hundred times over. And even then, it could be revoked in an instant based on nothing more than how you looked walking through a door.
Near the espresso machine, a young black man in his early 20s was restocking brochures. He wore the same polo shirt as the other salespeople, but something about his posture suggested he wasn't sales. Maybe administrative, maybe logistics. He glanced at Marcus, then quickly away, but there was something in that glance. Recognition maybe, or sympathy.
Ryan returned from the back office, walking with less confidence than he'd left with. He approached Marcus, phone in hand. "Okay, so I submitted your information to our finance department. They're reviewing it now. They did have a few questions, though."