"Right. 'Optimized,' you said?" Pete smirked. "Sounds like fancy talk for 'used bike.' It rides OK, but it's still a used bike. Look, I'm busy. Cut the crap. Two thousand five hundred. Cash." He patted a bulge in his jeans pocket. "Take it or leave it."
Theo felt a jolt, anger mixing with a sickening lurch of desperation. $2500? That was $1500 below asking. It was highway robbery. But… it was also cash. Guaranteed. Enough to cover rent and living expenses, plus leave him with over $2700. A profit of $1500, instantly realized. His mind raced, calculating. The risk of holding out versus the certainty of cash now. He could pay his bills, eat properly, maybe even start looking for the next bike immediately. The pressure, the gnawing anxiety, could vanish in the next five minutes. He hesitated, the pragmatic side warring with his pride and his knowledge of the bike's true, enhanced worth.
He watched Pete's eyes. Despite the dismissive act, there was a flicker there, a covetous gleam as he ran a hand almost possessively over the bike's top tube. Pete wanted it. He knew it was good, the test ride must have proven that, even if he wouldn't admit it. He was just trying to steal it for a bargain price.
"Tell you what," Pete said, perhaps sensing Theo's hesitation. "I'll go up to twenty-seven hundred. Final offer. That's more than fair for a used bike with old components."
$2700. $1700 profit. Still significant. Theo chewed the inside of his lip. Why was this guy wasting his time coming all the way out here if he wasn't serious? Agreeing to a viewing implied acceptance of the general price range. This felt… insulting. It triggered that old feeling, the one from his corporate days, the feeling that the world was full of sharks trying to take advantage, trying to push him down. And maybe it was the memory of the enhanced bike's exhilarating performance, the knowledge of its superiority, but something snapped.
"No," Theo said, the word clipped, cold. "The price is four thousand. I might consider a reasonable offer near that, but twenty-seven hundred is wasting both our time."
Pete's eyes widened slightly, surprised perhaps by the firm rejection. The smirk dropped. "Suit yourself, pal." He shrugged, took one last longing glimpse at the bike before turning back towards his truck. "Your loss." He climbed in, slammed the door, and roared out of the parking lot, leaving Theo standing alone in the sudden quiet, the scent of exhaust fumes hanging in the air.
Theo leaned back against his car, his legs suddenly shaky. Relief warred with a fresh wave of panic. Had he just made a catastrophic mistake? $2700 cash… gone. He could be completely broke by next week if CycleNut88 or SpeedySarah fell through. He carefully loaded the bike back into his car, his hands trembling slightly. The drive back to his apartment was a blur of self-recrimination and rising dread.
That night was long. Sleep refused to come. Theo paced the confines of his messy apartment, the ghost of Pete's offer haunting him. $2700. He could have taken it. He could be sleeping soundly right now, free from the immediate financial terror. Instead, he'd let pride, or annoyance, or a gambler's instinct dictate his move. He stared at the bike gleaming faintly in the dark, looking more like a liability than an asset. Images of eviction notices, of sleeping rough, of the hollow-eyed despair he saw on the city streets flickered at the edges of his vision. He felt the familiar cold tendrils of his deepest fear, returning to the poverty he'd fought so hard to escape, wrapping around him. He spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the sirens, convinced he'd just thrown away his only chance.
Tuesday. Hope, fragile but persistent, returned with the dawn. Today was CycleNut88. The enthusiast. Surely, surely, someone who understood bikes would appreciate the Giant's true value.
He met CycleNut88 at the county bike trail parking lot mid-morning. The contrast with Pete was immediate. CycleNut88 (whose real name turned out to be Dave) arrived in full cycling kit, friendly, respectful, and genuinely knowledgeable. He inspected the bike with an expert eye, commenting appreciatively on the frame geometry, the clean condition.
"So, this 'optimization'…" Dave began, looking intrigued rather than sceptical. "What exactly did that involve?"
Theo repeated his practiced lines about hub rebuilds, precision alignment, cable routing. He kept it vague, focusing on standard high-end workshop practices. Dave nodded thoughtfully. "Mind if I take it for a quick spin?"
"Be my guest," Theo said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
He watched Dave ride off onto the paved trail. This was it. If Dave didn't feel the difference, didn't recognize the bike's superiority, Theo was likely sunk. The wait felt agonizingly long, each passing minute stretching into an eternity.
Dave returned about fifteen minutes later, pulling up with a low whistle. He was breathing a little harder, a wide grin splitting his face.
"Okay," Dave said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "Wow. Just… wow. That thing flies. It's incredibly stiff under power, accelerates like crazy, but still feels smooth. Honestly, it feels lighter and faster than my buddy's new Cervelo that cost him nearly six grand. What on earth did you do to it?"
Relief, potent and intoxicating, flooded Theo. He managed a casual shrug. "Like I said, just careful tuning. Making sure every component works perfectly together."
Dave looked at the bike again, then back at Theo. "Alright. The four thousand asking price is a bit steep, considering it's a couple of years old, even in this condition. Would you take thirty-four hundred?"
Here we go. The negotiation. Theo felt steadier now, buoyed by Dave's reaction. "I appreciate the offer, Dave, but given the performance you just experienced, which you yourself compared to a six-thousand-dollar bike, I think four thousand is more than fair. This isn't just a stock TCR."