A small card next to the piano showed the price: $150,000.
Marcus almost laughed. That was more money than he had made in 10 years of construction work. But he did not care about the price. He just wanted to look at this beautiful instrument.
He walked around it slowly. He noticed everything: the curve of the body, the shine of the keys, the way the light reflected off the polished surface.
Then he heard it—a small sound. Something was not quite right. He leaned closer to the piano. His trained ear, even after all these years, could hear what others could not.
"The hammer voicing," he whispered to himself. "It is slightly off in the upper register."
He did not realize he had said it out loud, but someone had heard him.
At that moment, a man walked toward Marcus. He was tall and thin. He wore a suit that probably cost more than everything Marcus owned. His hair was perfect. His shoes were perfectly shiny. His face was cold and unfriendly.
This was Richard Harrington III. He was the owner of the showroom. His family had sold pianos for three generations. He thought he knew everything about pianos, and he thought he knew everything about people.
When Richard saw Marcus standing near the expensive Steinway, he felt angry. How dare this dirty old man come into his store? How dare he touch anything?
Richard did not know who Marcus really was. He did not know that the old man in front of him had once been one of the greatest piano players in the world. He did not know that Marcus had played at Carnegie Hall. He did not know that three American presidents had invited Marcus to perform for them. He did not know that music critics had once called Marcus the next Oscar Peterson.
All Richard saw was a poor old worker who did not belong in his fancy showroom. And that mistake would change both of their lives forever.
Richard Harrington walked toward Marcus with cold eyes. His expensive shoes clicked on the marble floor. Each step sounded like a judge's hammer. He stopped right in front of the old man and crossed his arms.