"Mr. Delano," she said, "before Mr. Chen arrives, I would like three things on the record. Number one, I would like you to acknowledge that this showroom is being recorded on your security system and that the audio and video from the last hour and 12 minutes will not be deleted, degraded, or overwritten between now and the moment my attorney requests a copy of it."
Rick swallowed. "Yes, ma'am. Acknowledged. I will personally instruct RIT to pull and preserve the footage."
"Number two, I would like it on the record that my son Elijah Booker entered this dealership at approximately 9:17 this morning as a bonafide customer with cash and pre-approved financing sufficient to purchase the vehicle he inquired about and that he was refused service and asked to leave the premises on grounds that a reasonable person could only interpret as being based on his race and his age."
"Ma'am, I'm... I'm not in a position to make that determination on behalf of the—"
"I am not asking you to make a determination, Mr. Delano. I am asking you to acknowledge that this is what will be stated in the complaint I will be filing with the Ohio Civil Rights Commission by the end of business today. Do you acknowledge that I have stated this?"
Rick's throat moved. "Yes, ma'am. Acknowledged."
"Number three." She paused. She looked for the first time directly at Scott. "I would like it on the record that Mr. Halverson filmed my son without his consent on a personal device and based on my son's statement and the demeanor of Mr. Halverson's co-workers during the incident, likely distributed that footage to a private group chat. I would like that device preserved as well."
Rick did not look at Scott. Rick said, "Yes, ma'am. Acknowledged."
Scott made a small sound in the back of his throat. Something halfway between a laugh and a cough. The sound of a man about to say, "Now, hold on a second."
Rick, without turning around, said, "Scott, give me your phone."
"Rick, that's my personal..."
"Give me your phone right now."
Scott gave him the phone.
The sliding doors opened at 10:23 a.m. Marcus Chen walked in. He was 48, Taiwanese American, 5'9", wearing a charcoal suit and no tie, carrying a slim leather folio, and the temperature of the showroom seemed to drop 3° the moment his loafers touched the marble. Behind him came a woman in a navy pants suit carrying a laptop bag. Elena Ruiz had in fact driven the 90 minutes from Cleveland with him and had spent the drive on the phone with Legal.
Marcus stopped in the middle of the showroom and scanned it once. His eyes found Patricia on the bench. He walked directly to her. He did not look at Scott. He did not look at Rick. He walked to Patricia and when he reached her, he did something that changed the physics of the room. He did not shake her hand. He put one hand over his heart. He gave a small deliberate bow, not deep, not theatrical. The bow of a man who had been raised by a grandmother who had taught him that some apologies begin before the mouth opens.
"Ms. Booker," Marcus said, and his voice was very quiet. "On behalf of the Halvern Auto Group, on behalf of every person who wears this company's name on their shirt, I am profoundly sorry. Mr. Halver is on his way. He would like to apologize to you in person and to your son if you will permit it. He asked me to tell you he is 1 hour and 40 minutes out. I am authorized to speak for him until he arrives." He paused. "May I sit?"
Patricia studied him. Then she nodded once, "please."
Marcus sat down on the bench on the other side of Elijah. He turned to the boy first, not to Patricia. To Elijah.
"Young man," he said, "may I ask your name, please? Your full name."
Elijah's voice was small but steady. "Elijah David Booker. Sir."
"Mr. Booker, I would like to hear in your own words what happened to you here today. Take as much time as you need. Nobody in this room is going to interrupt you." He glanced up just once at Scott across the showroom. Scott had gone the color of paper. "Nobody."