She glanced at the senior clerk.
The answer was visible.
The regional president saw it.
Another problem.
The Black man said quietly:
“She tried to call you.”
The president nodded.
“I heard.”
He looked toward the blonde clerk.
“Please step away from the floor.”
Her mouth opened.
“Sir—”
“Now.”
She swallowed.
Then walked toward the back office.
The regional president turned toward the security specialist.
“Thank you for not escalating.”
The man nodded.
The president then looked toward the junior associate.
“Come upstairs with us.”
The junior associate stared.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
The blonde clerk stopped near the back door.
The junior associate looked terrified.
The Black man asked:
“Why?”
The regional president smiled faintly.
“Because she is the only person downstairs who apparently tried to verify anything.”
The Black man looked toward the young associate.
Then nodded.
“Fair.”
They went upstairs.
The heritage room looked nothing like the retail floor.
No glass counters.
No bright rows of merchandise.
A long walnut table.
Two leather chairs.
A wall of archival photographs.
A secure vault door recessed into one side.
Coffee.
Water.
No champagne.
The Black man noticed.
The regional president smiled.
“We remembered.”
“I appreciate that.”
The junior associate stood awkwardly near the wall.
The Black man gestured toward an empty chair.
“Sit.”
She looked toward the regional president.
He nodded.
She sat.
The Black man sat opposite the vault.
The regional president remained standing for a moment.
Then said:
“Before we do anything else, I owe you an apology.”
The Black man looked toward him.
“You personally?”
“For the institution.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
The president sat.
“What happened downstairs should not have happened.”
“No.”
“I need you to know that.”
“I know.”
The president paused.
“You don’t sound surprised.”
The Black man looked toward the archive photographs.
“My father repaired watches for forty years.”
“He spent his last fifteen years doing restoration work wealthy collectors trusted him with.”
“He entered rooms where people knew what his hands could do.”
“And stores where people saw only his skin and work clothes.”
The regional president lowered his eyes.
The Black man continued.
“I learned early that luxury has two doors.”
“One for money.”
“One for people who look like they already belong near money.”