The heavy roar of air wrenches echoed across the sunlit concrete floors of Apex Auto Repair, a local institution in suburban Chicago.
Grease-stained tool chests lined the back walls beneath a faded American flag that had weathered decades of changing ownership.
Marcus wiped his grease-stained forehead with the back of a calloused hand, staring down at the customized red sports car sitting on the hydraulic lift.
Marcus: We're almost done flushing the transmission lines, just need a few more minutes.
Julian: A few minutes? You've had my vehicle for three hours too long.
Marcus: Precision work takes time, Mr. Vance. You wanted the high-performance gaskets installed properly.
Julian: I didn't pay five thousand dollars in advance to watch a common mechanic track shop dirt onto my custom leather interior.
Julian adjusted the cuffs of his thousand-dollar Italian wool suit, sneering down at the oil stains on the shop floor.
Julian: People of your social standing really have no concept of luxury maintenance.
Marcus: People of my standing built the engines you drive every single day.
Julian: Don't talk back to me, you grease monkey.
Marcus gripped his wrench tightly, feeling the familiar burn of wealthy arrogance that he had endured for years.
Marcus: Just keep your hands to yourself and let us finish the job.
Julian: I wouldn't trust my hands near trash anyway.
Julian reached into his designer leather briefcase resting on the nearby workbench, his eyes glinting with malicious intent.
Marcus: What are you pulling out of that case?
Can Marcus stop the arrogant corporate executive before he crosses a line that can never be uncrossed?