Don Félix didn’t respond; he simply continued staring at the white truck, caressing the metal like someone greeting an old friend.

This calmness disconcerted the salespeople, but they interpreted it as the confusion of a lost old man.

“Look,” Hector intervened in a professional but cold tone. “We understand that these trucks are impressive, but this isn’t a museum. If you don’t have a registered transport company, we can’t even start the quoting process.”

“I have a company,” Don Félix said without turning around. “32 active units. I need five more.”

Now it was Javier who let out a short, dry laugh, adjusted his glasses, and stepped forward.