"Because the man I'm about to be in business with, the man I'd be tying my company's name and money to for the next 10 years, just showed me exactly what he does when he thinks no one important is watching." He shook his head slowly. "And that's the one thing I can't buy my way around, Ethan. I can fix a balance sheet."
"I can restructure debt. I can carry a company through a bad year. But I cannot fix a man who treats people like garbage the second he thinks they can't hurt him. That's not a business risk. That's a character problem."
"And character problems always cost you in the end." Vanessa stepped forward. She was crying now. Real tears, though Travis suspected they were tears of fear and not of shame.
"Mr. Reed, I'll do anything. We'll do anything. We'll apologize publicly. We'll donate."
"We'll make it right. Just please don't—" "Stop." Travis held up one weathered hand, and she stopped.
"I want you both to listen to me very carefully because I'm only going to say this once, and then I'm going to sign or not sign, and you're going to live with it either way." The courtyard held its breath. "I grew up poor," Travis said. "Not regular poor."
"The kind of poor where you learn the sound of the repo truck. My dad worked two jobs, and we still lost the house when I was nine. I rode a motorcycle because it was the only thing I could afford to fix myself. I spent the first 30 years of my life being looked at the exact way you two looked at me today."
"Like I was something to be cleaned up. Like I was a problem that nice people shouldn't have to see." He took a breath. "And you know what I learned?"
"I learned that the people who treat you like dirt when you're down are the same people who lick your boots the second you're up. They don't change. The only thing that changes is the size of your bank account. I decided a long time ago that I would never, never give those people what they wanted from me, which was for me to become one of them."
He looked at the dusty Harley, then back at Ethan and Vanessa. "You wanted me to be ashamed of this bike, of these clothes, of this skin." He almost smiled. "But this bike is the truest thing in this whole courtyard."
"This bike doesn't care how much money you have. It just wants to know if you can ride." Somewhere in the crowd, somebody started to clap. It was quiet, just one person, but it spread slow, then faster.
Within seconds, half the courtyard was applauding the dirty old biker. Same people who'd been laughing at him 15 minutes before. Travis didn't acknowledge it. He found the sound almost as distasteful as the laughing had been, because it was the same instinct, the herd turning to face the new winner.
He raised a hand, and the clapping died. "Don't," Travis said. "You laughed when you thought he was right. Now you're clapping because you think I'm right."