He Yelled at the Wrong Old Man

At 8:55 the next morning, Brandon stood outside a glass conference room on the 30th floor, fixing his tie for the fourth time.

He knew every number. Every slide. This deal was going to change his life.

"Mr. Hayes will see you now," the assistant said.

Brandon walked in smiling.

The man at the head of the table had on a navy suit now. Not a faded shirt. But Brandon knew that face the second he saw it.

His smile just fell off.

"Good morning, Mr. Cole," Walter said. "Have a seat."

Brandon didn't sit. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

"Sir, I... yesterday, I didn't know..."

"You didn't know who I was," Walter said. "I get it. That's what worries me."

Every lawyer at that table suddenly found their paperwork very interesting.

Walter folded his hands.

"Let me tell you about that restaurant. I eat there every Thursday. Have for forty years. I started when I was a janitor in this building, because it was the only place I could afford."

He took his time with the next part.

"Yesterday you looked at an old man in a cheap shirt and decided he was nothing. Decided he didn't belong. Decided he was a thief."

"I was having a bad day," Brandon said. It came out small. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"Are you sorry because you were wrong?" Walter asked. "Or because of who I turned out to be?"

Brandon had nothing.

Walter slid a folder across the table.

"Your company's good. The product is excellent. My team says you're the best buy we could make this year."

For a second, Brandon let himself breathe.

"But I don't buy companies," Walter said. "I buy people. And yesterday I met the man who'd be running this one."

He stood up.

"The deal isn't cancelled. It isn't signed, either. I've got one condition."

Brandon swallowed. "Anything."

Walter looked at him for a long time.

"You're not going to like it."