The Black man opened his eyes.
“How much?”
The junior associate looked surprised.
The president did not.
“Eight point four.”
“Delivered?”
“Yes.”
“Custom latitude?”
“Included.”
“Which latitude is currently configured?”
“Geneva.”
The Black man shook his head.
“Change it.”
“To?”
He gave a latitude.
The regional president recognized the city.
The place where his father had kept the tiny watch-repair shop for thirty-one years.
The president nodded.
“Of course.”
The Black man finally picked up the watch.
Placed it near his wrist.
Not on.
Just beside the old steel watch his father had given him.
Two generations of craft.
One worn.
One perfect.
The junior associate looked at both.
The old watch suddenly seemed more important.
The Black man said:
“I’ll take it.”
The regional president nodded.
No surprise.
The junior associate blinked.
The man looked toward her.
“What?”
She flushed.
“Nothing.”
He smiled.
“You thought I might not?”
“No.”
Then honesty won.
“Maybe a little.”
He laughed.
“Good.”
She looked embarrassed.
He continued.
“Assumptions don’t disappear because we’re trying to be better.”
“The useful question is what we do before acting on them.”
The regional president looked toward her.
She nodded.
The purchase paperwork should have been the end of the story.
It was not.
Because the Black man had not come only for the repeater.
That was the first twist the blonde clerk never understood.
The second came after lunch.
The regional president invited him to remain upstairs for the previously scheduled meeting.
The junior associate was excused.
Before she left, the Black man said:
“Thank you for making the call.”
She smiled nervously.
“I should have done it sooner.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised her.
Then he added:
“But you did it.”
She nodded.
“That matters.”
She went downstairs.
The blonde clerk was not on the floor.
The security specialist stood near the entrance again.
He looked toward her.
“What happened?”
The junior associate exhaled.
“He bought it.”
The security specialist’s eyebrows rose.
“The repeater?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
She told him.
He whistled quietly.
Then:
“Is that why the president ran?”
The junior associate looked toward the stairs.
“No.”
“I don’t think so.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She lowered her voice.
“I think there’s something bigger.”