“You owned it!”
“Through holding company.”
“That is owning.”
“Technically.”
Naomi shoved phone in his face.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You were eleven minutes old when I decided to hide all embarrassing internet videos from you.”
“Dad.”
He sat.
Camille left room strategically.
Coward.
Naomi watched clip again.
“You look mad.”
“I was.”
“Why didn’t you yell?”
“Would it help?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe not.”
“Did you fire her?”
“After investigation, yes.”
“Good.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Why good?”
“She was mean.”
“Is being mean always firing offense?”
Naomi frowned.
“She was racist.”
“Was she?”
“Dad.”
“I’m not saying she wasn’t biased.”
“I’m asking what you think happened.”
Naomi watched.
“She thought you were poor because Black.”
“Maybe.”
“And clothes.”
“And unknown.”
“And store taught her to guess.”
Naomi rolled eyes.
“You always make things complicated.”
“Things arrive complicated.”
“What should she have done?”
“Checked.”
“Card?”
“Name.”
“Purchase history.”
“Anything.”
“Before insulting.”
“Yes.”
Naomi paused.
“What if you weren’t rich?”
Marcus looked at her.
That was the question.
“Then I still should have been treated respectfully.”
“But she could refuse expensive watch.”
“Yes, based on real policy.”
“Not because I looked wrong.”
Naomi nodded.
Then:
“I’m still glad you fired her.”
Marcus smiled.
“Eleven-year-old due process.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
At fourteen, Naomi worked one summer in Arden & Vale distribution center.
Not boutique.
Marcus insisted.
She hated him.
“My friends are in Europe.”
“You’re labeling boxes.”
“Yes.”
“This is abuse.”
“You have air conditioning.”
“Cruelty with HVAC.”
Camille secretly loved.
Naomi learned how expensive objects moved before reaching glass cases.
Inventory.
Packaging.
Returns.
Repairs.
People whose names customers never knew.
One warehouse supervisor named Tanya Briggs taught her scanning.
Naomi made mistake.
Misrouted a $200,000 piece.
System caught before shipping.
She nearly cried.
Tanya said:
“Good.”
Naomi stared.
“What?”