Chapter 56: The Man Behind the Wheel

Joe Suarez hadn’t intended to spend most of his working life with the Vance family.

In fact, when he’d first walked into Vance Holdings decades earlier, he hadn’t even been applying for a driving position.

He’d been looking for whatever work he could get.

At the time, Joe had a young wife, one child, another on the way, and very little patience for pride.

The company hired him as part of the maintenance staff.

He cleaned offices, helped move furniture when departments were reorganized, replaced light fixtures, and handled minor repairs whenever someone discovered Joe knew how.

Then one afternoon, a maintenance vehicle refused to start.

Joe got that running too.

That’s how people gradually learned he could do much more than clean.

One evening, Alejandro Vance found him helping a company driver diagnose an engine problem in the parking area.

"You’re maintenance."

Joe looked up.

"Yes, sir."

"And a mechanic?"

"Not officially."

Alejandro glanced toward the open hood.

"Does the car know that?"

Joe smiled despite himself.

"Probably not, sir."

Soon after, one of Alejandro’s regular drivers called in sick just as he needed to attend several meetings outside the office.

Someone suggested Joe.

He had a license.

He knew the city.

More importantly, he drove carefully.

Alejandro approved the temporary arrangement.

The temporary arrangement lasted considerably longer than anyone expected.

Eventually, Joe became one of Alejandro’s regular drivers.

Then the regular driver.

By then, he’d learned enough about the Vances to recognize moods from the way car doors closed.

He drove Alejandro through the years when Vance Holdings expanded.

He waited outside hospitals, family gatherings, board meetings, and business dinners.

Once, he spent nearly four hours parked outside a restaurant because Alejandro had gone inside for what was supposed to be a brief conversation and apparently decided to solve half his life over dinner.

Joe never complained.

At least, not where Alejandro could hear him.

When Alexander began taking on greater responsibility within Vance Holdings, Joe started driving for him too.

Then Alejandro retired.

One morning, father and son stood beside the car while Joe loaded several folders into the trunk.

Alejandro looked at him.

"You’re going with Alex."

Joe asked.

"Sir?"

"You heard me."

Alexander frowned.

"Dad, I can find my own driver."

"I know."

"Then why are you assigning me yours?"

Alejandro smiled.

"Because I know this one works."

Joe looked awkwardly between them.

"I’m standing right here, sir."

"That’s why I said it."

Alexander eventually accepted.

Joe never told either man that he’d felt strangely honored by the decision.

Two generations.

That was how long he stayed.

The Vances paid him well.

More importantly, they treated what he did as work worth paying well for.

Joe’s children went to good schools.

One became an engineer.

Another entered healthcare.

The youngest built a career in finance that Joe only partially understood but described with immense pride whenever anyone asked.

His wife no longer worried about paying the bills.

Their house was theirs, they had savings, and they were comfortable.

For a man who’d once counted grocery money down to the last few coins before payday, comfortable was an extraordinary word.

Still, time had a habit of collecting its own debts.

His grandchildren were growing.

His wife had begun teasing him that she knew Alexander Vance’s schedule better than she knew her own husband’s.

Joe laughed whenever she said it.

Then one evening, he realized she wasn’t entirely joking.

"How many more years do you want to keep doing this?"

Joe looked across the dinner table.

"Driving?"

"Working like you’re still forty."

"I don’t work that hard."

His wife stared at him.

Joe reconsidered.

"Fine. Sometimes."

"You leave before sunrise."

"Alex has early meetings."

"You come home late."

"Traffic."

"You answer messages on weekends."

"Sometimes plans change."

His wife smiled.

"I’m not asking you to quit tomorrow."

Joe understood.

"What are you asking?"

"I’m asking when we get some of you back."

That stayed with him.

No resentment sat behind the question.

Somehow, that made it harder.

Joe began thinking seriously about retirement.

Not because he disliked the job.

Precisely because he didn’t.

It would’ve been easy to keep postponing leaving something familiar.

Another year.

Then another.

Until age or health eventually decided for him.

He didn’t want that.

Maybe he and his wife could open something small.

Nothing ambitious.

She’d always liked the idea of a neighborhood convenience store.

Joe preferred an auto-supply shop where he could still tinker with engines without spending twelve hours a day on the road.

They could argue about it after retirement.

Mostly, they wanted time.

Breakfast without checking a clock.

Afternoons with grandchildren.

Trips not tied to another person’s itinerary.

For the first time in decades, Joe wanted to know what his schedule looked like when nobody else set it.

Alexander hadn’t taken the news well.

He hadn’t taken it badly either.

That would’ve been easier.

Joe told him after a relatively quiet workday while they were parked outside Vance Holdings.

"Sir."

Alexander looked up from his phone.

"What is it?"

"I’ve been thinking about retiring."

Alex went completely still.

Joe almost regretted delivering the news that directly.

Then:

"When?"

"Not immediately."

"How long?"

"I haven’t settled on an exact date."

"That doesn’t answer the question."

Joe smiled faintly.

"I know."

Alexander stared through the windshield.

"You’re serious."

"Yes, sir."

"Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Health?"

"I’m fine."

"Salary?"

Joe turned.

"Sir."

"What?"

"You’re negotiating with a problem that doesn’t exist."

Alexander closed his mouth.

Joe softened.

"My wife’s been patient with me for a long time. My grandchildren are growing up. I’d like to be there before they decide spending time with Grandpa is embarrassing."

That left remarkably little room for negotiation.

Eventually, Alexander nodded.

"You’ve given me plenty of notice."

"I didn’t want to leave you scrambling."

"We’ll find someone."

"Yes, sir."

Another pause.

Then Alexander said quietly:

"That doesn’t mean I have to like it."

Joe smiled.

"No, sir."

During Westbridge, Giovanni had gotten to know Joe better than Alexander realized.

Part of that relationship was practical.

Joe was an excellent source of harmless information.

Nothing confidential, nothing inappropriate. Just useful little messages.

Site visit tomorrow, sir. Morning.

Or:

Running late. Lunch probably there.

That was how Giovanni occasionally knew to bring extra sandwiches.

Once, Joe caught him setting aside food.

"You always bring too much, sir?"

Giovanni looked at him.

"Sometimes."

Joe smiled.

"Of course."

Neither man said anything more.

After that, Joe’s messages somehow became slightly more reliable.

Giovanni never abused it.

He simply appreciated knowing when Alexander might appear.

Perhaps Joe understood that too.

More importantly, Giovanni respected the man’s path.

Joe had taken whatever work was available until he found something stable.

Giovanni understood that better than most executives probably would.

During college, he’d done the same.

Whatever paid enough and preferably came with food.

Some people treated those years as something to escape and forget once they became successful.

Giovanni didn’t.

Neither did Joe.

They’d both learned early that no honest work became less respectable simply because someone eventually earned the privilege of choosing something else.

A few days after the dinner at Matteo’s, Alexander finally asked Joe the question he’d been avoiding.

They were driving back from a morning meeting when Alex lowered the report he’d been reading.

"How much time do you want?"

Joe glanced through the rearview mirror.

"Before retirement?"

"Yes."

"I was thinking three months."

Alexander’s expression changed.

"Three?"

"It’s enough time to hire somebody."

"Maybe."

"And train them."

"Maybe."

Joe almost laughed.

"Sir."

"What?"

"You have to hire someone eventually."

"I know."

"You keep saying that like you don’t."

Alexander closed the folder.

"What do you want in your replacement?"

Joe considered it.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you’ve done the job longer than anyone else."

After a moment, his expression grew more serious.

"There’s one thing."

"What?"

"Don’t hire somebody just because they know how to handle the car."

Alexander waited.

Joe’s eyes remained on the road.

"You’re not hiring a steering wheel, sir."

That got his attention.

Joe continued.

"The person hears calls. Sees where you go. Knows when you’re alone, when you’re tired, where your family lives, and which places you visit when you don’t want the public knowing."

Alexander’s humor disappeared.

"Trust."

"Exactly."

Joe changed lanes.

"You can teach somebody your preferred route."

A pause.

"You can’t train honesty into someone who doesn’t have it."

Alexander looked down at the notes he’d made.

That afternoon, he called Vincent into his office.

"I want the driver search expanded."

Vincent opened his tablet.

"Qualifications?"

Alexander slid over the notes.

Vincent read them.

"Defensive driving. Clean record. Security awareness. Basic vehicle troubleshooting..."

He continued down the page.

Then stopped at the final word.

"Trustworthy."

Alexander leaned back.

"Joe’s contribution."

"A difficult quality to verify from a résumé."

"I know."

"Background checks?"

"Thorough."

"References?"

"All of them."

Vincent nodded.

"I’ll revise the advertisement."

"And don’t limit it to executive drivers. Good candidates may come from fleet operations, security transport, or other professional driving backgrounds."

"Understood."

Vincent turned toward the door.

"Post it today."

"Yes, boss."

The door closed.

Alexander returned to work.

Less than an hour later, Vincent sent him the final advertisement for approval.

Alexander read it once.

Then approved it.

The vacancy went live.

By evening, applications had already begun arriving.

Dozens.

Then more.

Alexander ignored the notifications until his personal phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

He almost dismissed it.

Then he opened the message.

Looking for a new driver?

Alexander’s expression changed.

A second message appeared before he could reply.

Choose carefully.