The machine was located a hundred miles away. Forbes wrote back saying he would look at it the following Saturday morning. The arrangement was confirmed and Forbes left early that morning to allow him time to stop for breakfast part way through the drive. When he arrived at the location he expected to see a dealership but instead was a clean but vacant industrial garage. A Cadillac was parked in front of the small office that took up a corner of the building.
Inside, sitting at a desk, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup and reading a newspaper was what could only be described as a salesman. Wendell was immediately on guard as he approached the man who wore a dark suit over an open neck sports shirt. His hair was slicked down with some kind of cream or gel. He had a gold chain around his neck and another, heavier gold chain on his wrist. He looked very healthy and decent enough but if you had to put a label on his forehead it would read “Slick” in big bold letters. The salesman stood up and pumped Wendell’s hand.
“You must be Wendell Forbes, the man I was sent here to meet.”
The comment caught Forbes off guard. “I don’t understand,” he questioned, “What do you mean, sent here?”
“First of all let me introduce myself. My name is George Nichol. I was asked to meet you here and show you the backhoe. It’s in the garage. But first I want to explain something. If you want it, we can sign the papers. I have them all prepared. If you don’t want it, we shake hands and you walk away. That’s it! I want you to know that I’ve been paid already. I get no extra commission for a sale …. Nothing. Not one red cent. Look … You seem a bit surprised. I don’t understand this any more than you do. I’ve gone over the machine …. It’s like new. I’ve looked at the contracts and they are gold. I’ve personally checked out title. I guarantee it’s clean, and I’ve come across about a hundred hot machines over the years, so I know how to spot them. Given the price on the contract, I had to believe this baby was hot ….. but it isn’t. Title sparkles like Mr. Clean himself. So come on back and check her out yourself. It’s in the shop.”
Wendell followed, trying to figure out what kind of a scam he had fallen into. The salesman definitely knew his stuff. He started the machine and ran the hydraulics expertly, the bucket and shovel operating smoothly without any sign of bouncing that comes with old, tired machinery. He pointed out every hose connection where hydraulics were likely to leak and every grease fitting, just to prove that the machine had been well maintained. “If I had this baby in my own showroom, I’d ask fifteen thousand more than the contract and have it sold in a week!”
“What do you mean …. Your showroom?” demanded Wendell.
“My showroom, my yard, my equipment. I sell heavy equipment …. I own a dealership. But this one ain’t mine. That’s what I’m telling you. I got asked to broker this deal. Normally I wouldn’t do that but I’m being paid full commission, so what the hell! You must have some kinda sugar daddy to sell you this machine at the price on the contract. I’d buy it myself … for cash … today. But it’s not for sale. You are the only person who can buy it. The only catch is, you are not supposed to flip it. You have to agree not to sell it or lease it for one full year.”
“What happens if I do?” asked Wendell.
“Nothing, really,” answered the salesman. “Just that the vendor will refuse to do future business with you. It’s not legal to actually prevent you from selling what is rightfully yours. Like I said, I don’t get it.”
Wendell was more confused than ever. The thought that “anything that seems too good to be true, probably is,” went through his head and wouldn’t leave. He climbed up into the machine.
“Don’t lift that bucket too high or you’ll put it right through the roof,” warned the salesman. “I’ll drive it outside if you want to play with it.”
“Just open the door. I’ll drive it out myself,” stated Wendell, firmly.
“OK. This isn’t my shop. Just be careful.”
The salesman walked over to the garage door and opened it with the automatic opener. Wendell drove the machine out in low gear. He tested all the controls but had less experience and was not as quick or as smooth with it as the salesman. Finally he climbed down, satisfied that the motor and transmission, the hydraulics, the electrics and even the air conditioning worked perfectly.
“OK. Let’s look at the paperwork,” he said, still skeptical.
The two men returned to the office. George Nichol opened his brief case and laid all the paperwork out on the desk. All that was required to cement the deal was a five hundred dollar deposit, fully refundable if any title problems were uncovered within the week. There was only one oddity. The current owner of the machine was listed as “Mentor Corporation.”
“Strange name for a heavy equipment dealer, ain’t it?” said the salesman.
“Yeah. Sure is,” said Wendell, quietly.
“I ship it anywhere you want within three hundred miles. You inspect it on delivery and after you check it out, then you pay me the balance. This is my card and that’s my cell phone number. Like I said, I’m just the broker but you are welcome to check out my credentials if you want to. I’ve been selling construction equipment for twenty years and I have a good reputation. I’ll guarantee title but if you want to do that independently, that’s fine. You have a week to check title and another week to arrange financing before I deliver it. You just give me a phone call and tell me you are ready and I’ll have it there for you the next day. You go over the machine again and when you are done you give me a certified check. That’s it. I tell you, I’d be out of business if I did deals like this! Nothin’ moves off my yard until I have the cash in my hand.
Wendell decided the most he had to risk was five hundred dollars. He signed the offer to purchase and initialed all the conditions to get out of the deal if he changed his mind on delivery. The two men shook hands and Wendell climbed into his SUV and drove back home. Ten days later the machine was delivered to his jobsite. Wendell asked his foreman to assess the machine. His foreman couldn’t believe it.
“Just buy it! Then burn that old pig we’ve been using and sell it for scrap iron!” the foreman exclaimed, pointing at the old backhoe that spent more time being repaired than it did working.
Wendell handed over the bank draft to the salesman who had arrived in the passenger seat of the semi, hauling the float.
A month passed. Then one day a UPS truck arrived with a letter from Mentor Corporation.
Dear Mr. Forbes,
“I would like to thank you for your purchase of a backhoe from Mentor Corporation and I trust that you are satisfied with your acquisition.”
“Satisfied!” thought Wendell. “The thing works like a charm and I bought it for half price! Damn straight I’m satisfied.”
The letter continued:
“Mentor Corporation is a unique facility designed to assist worthy entrepreneurs to achieve their goals. We became aware of your desire to purchase a piece of heavy equipment through the inquiries you made on-line, to several suppliers. We recognized your need and clarified details of that need through our initial e-mail. When we were convinced that your commitment was genuine and that you conducted your business in an appropriate manner, we commenced our own search for a machine that we felt would suit you. When we found it, we informed you of it and I believe I can safely say that certain assumptions we made, worked out favorably. You purchased the equipment and I assume that you are pleased with it.
So let’s move on.
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