Tuesday brought an unexpected visit from Mr. Gable, Ethan's landlord.
At two PM, while Ethan was behind the register sorting through a box of newly arrived jazz CDs, a heavy knock sounded on the front door glass.
Mr. Gable—a short, round man in his sixties wearing a greasy khaki jacket and a plaid cap—stepped inside, holding a clipboard and a heavy flashlight.
"Afternoon, Ethan," Mr. Gable barked in his loud, gravelly voice. "Just doing the annual building inspection for the insurance company."
"Afternoon, Mr. Gable," Ethan said, leaning on the counter. "Did you ever fix that roof leak above my closet?"
"Patched it Saturday, Ethan!" Mr. Gable lied smoothly, walking toward the back storage room. "Good as new! Won't drop a drop until next spring!"
Ethan knew for a fact it was going to leak the very next time it rained, but he didn't bother arguing.
While Mr. Gable was in the back checking the water heater, Julian walked through the front entrance.
He wasn't wearing his usual trench coat today—just a sharp navy blazer, grey trousers, and spotless brown leather dress shoes. He was holding a sleek black iPad in a leather case.
"Ethan," Julian said, stepping up to the counter. His voice sounded surprisingly quiet, devoid of its usual arrogant edge.
Ethan stood up straight. "Julian. What can I do for you?"
Julian looked around the shop, his eyes lingering on the wooden record racks, the soft LED lighting, and the quiet atmosphere.
"I heard about Mr. Henderson selling the building," Julian said, setting his iPad on the glass case.
Ethan narrowed his eyes slightly. "Word travels fast."
"Real estate brokers talk," Julian said, crossing his arms. "Our corporate team across the street is already looking at bidding on one of the new commercial retail spaces on the ground floor of the new development."
Ethan felt a small, bitter sting in his gut. "Right. Bigger shop, better lights."
Julian looked at Ethan for a long second, then let out a short, tired sigh that sounded surprisingly human. "Honestly, Ethan... I don't even know if our store is gonna survive until May."
Ethan blinked, completely caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
Julian leaned his elbows on the glass counter, looking down at his polished shoes. "Our sales numbers were down fifteen percent last month. The corporate board sent me an ultimatum yesterday—either we hit twenty-two grand in December, or they're shuttering the location and transferring me to an outlet store in Ohio."
Ethan stared at him. For months, Julian had seemed like an invincible, arrogant corporate drone, but sitting here now, in the quiet light of Henderson's shop, he just looked like an exhausted twenty-six-year-old guy terrified of losing his job.
"Ohio?" Ethan asked softly.
"Ohio," Julian repeated bitterly. "My entire family is here in the city."
Leo walked out from the back hallway, holding a stack of record sleeves, stopping dead in his tracks as he heard Julian's tone.
Nobody spoke for five seconds.
"Look," Ethan said, leaning over the counter toward Julian. "December is the biggest gift-buying month of the year. People buy turntables, speakers, audio gear for Christmas."
"We don't sell entry-level stuff, Ethan," Julian said, shaking his head. "Our cheapest turntable is eight hundred bucks. Nobody in this neighborhood has eight hundred bucks for a Christmas gift right now."
Ethan thought about it for three seconds. "Then stock entry-level stuff."
Julian looked up, frowning. "What?"
"Talk to your distributor," Ethan explained, pointing across the street. "Order a batch of three-hundred-dollar entry-level Audio-Technica decks. Sell them as holiday starter packages. People in this district buy entry-level gear all day long."
Julian stared at Ethan like he'd just spoken in an ancient dialect. "Corporate doesn't usually allow non-premium inventory..."
"Tell corporate it's a regional holiday promotion," Ethan said plainly. "If it saves the store, they won't care."
Julian stared at Ethan for another five seconds, then let out a breathless, quiet laugh. "You're offering me business advice? After how much of a dick I've been to you?"
"I don't want your store to close, Julian," Ethan said honestly, looking him straight in the eyes. "And I don't want you to have to move to Ohio."
Julian stood up straight, smoothing his navy blazer with both hands. He looked at Ethan, his expression completely changed—no fake smile, no corporate polish, just genuine, quiet respect.
"Thanks, Ethan," Julian said, his voice steady. "I'll call the regional manager today."
He picked up his iPad, turned around, and walked out through the silent front door, heading back across the street under the cold afternoon sky.
Leo walked over to the counter, staring at the door with his mouth wide open. "Ethan... did you just save Julian's life?"
"I gave him a suggestion," Ethan said, picking up his pricing gun. "Now go help Mr. Gable before he breaks the water heater."
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