Tony's expression shifted the moment Klein asked about negotiating the price. Not obviously — just a slight brightening around the eyes, the tell of someone who knows a deal is close.
"I can call the owner right now and check her intentions. If she's open to it, you two can meet in person and talk it through directly."
Klein raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you worried we'll cut you out and deal privately?"
Tony smiled without any defensiveness. "The owner signed an exclusive listing agreement with us and paid a deposit. By law, my commission is secured the moment the property sells, regardless of how the buyer and seller negotiate between themselves." He shrugged. "So honestly, I'd rather you two reach a deal."
"Fair enough. Make the call."
Tony stepped away and spoke quietly into his phone for a few minutes. He came back looking pleased.
"The owner — Dr. Chen — is actually nearby right now. She can be here in ten minutes. There's a café next door; we could wait there."
The café was quiet, the kind of corner spot that had been there long enough to stop trying to impress anyone. Klein and Tony had barely finished ordering when the door opened and a woman in her late fifties walked in — fitted suit, hair neat, the measured composure of someone who had spent decades being the most competent person in whatever room she entered.
Her eyes found their table immediately.
Tony stood. "Dr. Chen, thank you for coming. This is Mr. Liu — Klein — he's interested in the property." He turned. "Klein, this is the owner, Dr. Chen."
She sat down, accepted the black tea the waiter brought, and looked at Klein with the unhurried assessment of someone who had negotiated a lot of transactions.
She switched to Mandarin. "Chinese?"
Klein answered in kind. "My father was. I was born here — never been to China myself."
She made a small sound of acknowledgment, something in her posture settling slightly. Then she got to it.
"I won't take up too much of your time. You've already seen the house and you're here talking price, so I'll keep it simple." She set down her cup. "I'm in a hurry to wrap things up here and go home. The house has been sitting because people can't figure out whether they're buying a home or a business — that puts them off. But for someone who wants both, it's exactly right."
She looked at him steadily. "Three and a half million. Cash transaction, clean paperwork, title transfer as soon as possible. That's five hundred thousand off the listing price. If it works for you, we move forward. If not, I'll just rent it out — I'm not desperate."
Klein ran the math in his head without showing it. Three and a half million left him with roughly two-point-five in liquid assets after the purchase. Workable. The mixed-use layout, the corner position, the brick construction, the ground floor as a potential business front — the property was worth it.
He picked up his coffee, which had gone lukewarm, and raised it toward her.
"Deal."
A brief, satisfied smile crossed Dr. Chen's face. She touched her teacup to his.
"Tony," she said, turning to the agent, "handle the paperwork and move quickly."
Tony looked like a man who had just had a very good afternoon. "Absolutely. I'll have everything ready as fast as possible."
They signed a preliminary letter of intent before leaving the café. Klein paid the deposit in cash. They set a date for the formal signing and title transfer.
When Klein stepped back outside, the sun had dropped low enough to turn the street orange-gold. He stood on the sidewalk and looked at the small two-story building half a block away.
His place. Soon.
The apartment in Queens had been somewhere to sleep. This was something else — a foundation. Something he could build from.
He was still turning over possibilities for the ground floor when Tony, walking beside him, mentioned offhandedly that he had a contact in used cars if Klein was in the market.
Klein looked at him. "You moonlight as a car broker too?"
"Surviving in New York on commission alone takes creativity," Tony said, without apology. "Knowing the right people helps."
Klein considered that. "Alright. Let's go take a look."
Tony's Toyota wound through Brooklyn until it pulled up to a fenced lot surrounded by chain-link, old car parts stacked along the edges, a faded hand-painted sign over the main shed reading Mike's Motor World.
A man in oil-stained overalls emerged from one of the open bays before they'd fully stopped, a wrench in one hand, grinning at the sight of Tony's car.
"Hey! What brings you out here?" He gave Tony a quick fist bump, then turned to Klein with a warmer, more professional smile. "Mike. Owner. What are you looking for?"
"Pickup truck," Klein said. "Something that handles rough roads, carries cargo, doesn't break down in inconvenient places."
Mike's eyes lit up. He tossed the wrench into a nearby box. "Then you're in exactly the right spot. Just got some F-150 Raptors in. Follow me."
The back shed held three trucks, each half-covered with a tarpaulin. Mike pulled the first one off with a flourish.
Blue Ford F-150 Raptor. Some dust on the body, but the paint still held its finish under the shed lights. Mike ran through the background — previous owner was a farmer, bank repossession after the farm went under, low mileage, full maintenance records.
Klein walked around it slowly, doing a passable impression of someone who knew what they were looking at.
What he was actually doing was quieter than that. Thin Perception Threads extended from his fingertips, essentially invisible, seeping into the gaps of the body panels, along the chassis, into the wheel wells. The vibrations and feedback they returned were specific and clear — no flood damage, no frame cuts, no signs of fire. The main components were solid, connections tight, no meaningful oil leaks or evidence of undisclosed repairs. Surface wear on the suspension and brakes was normal for the age and mileage. A few fine scratches and one small paint chip on the rear quarter panel, the kind of thing that happened in parking lots.
Condition was genuine.
"Start it up," Klein said.
Mike got in and turned the key. The engine caught with a low, even rumble — no hesitation, no rough idle, no noise that shouldn't be there. Klein had Mike rev it twice. The response was clean.
He looked at the other two. The black one had a chassis scrape he didn't like and a slow oil seep from the valve cover — not catastrophic, but it meant the previous owner hadn't been careful. The silver one was clean mechanically but the interior showed wear that suggested hard use. Someone had put miles on it in ways that didn't show in the odometer.
He came back to the blue one.
"What's the number?"
Mike rubbed his palms together. "Fifty-two thousand. Includes title transfer and a full service before pickup. Given the condition, that's a fair price — but there's room to talk."
[End of Chapter 16]
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