One of the early independent watchmakers whose workshop had later become part of the luxury house’s historical archive.
The junior associate looked toward the Black man’s wrist again.
Impossible.
The original maker had produced fewer than thirty known watches before disappearing from commercial watchmaking.
Several were in museums.
One had sold privately for more than seven figures.
Could the Black man really be wearing one casually on an old leather strap?
She wanted to ask.
The senior clerk spoke first.
“We have a rare perpetual calendar available downstairs.”
The Black man shook his head.
“That isn’t your rarest.”
The clerk’s smile returned.
Thin.
“And you know that how?”
“Because you produced forty-two of them.”
The junior associate froze.
The clerk did too.
The Black man continued.
“Twelve in white metal.”
“Twenty in rose metal.”
“Ten with the enamel dial.”
The clerk stared.
“Where did you read that?”
“In your annual collector report.”
“That report isn’t public.”
“I know.”
The junior associate slowly closed her tablet.
The security specialist looked over again.
The clerk’s voice changed.
Not softer.
More suspicious.
“Who exactly are you?”
The man looked at her.
“I already gave you my name.”
“No.”
“I mean what do you do?”
He considered.
“I invest.”
“In watches?”
“In several things.”
The clerk’s eyes moved over his clothes again.
The Black man noticed.
He did not comment.
She asked:
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.”
“With whom?”
“Someone upstairs.”
That answer nearly broke her patience.
“Someone upstairs.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I was told the regional office would be expecting me.”
Now she did laugh.
Only once.
A short sound.
The junior associate looked toward her immediately.
The Black man’s face remained unchanged.
The clerk corrected herself.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you aren’t.”
The words were not angry.
That made them worse.
The clerk’s face tightened.
“Sir, people come in here every week claiming they have appointments with executives.”
“I’m sure.”
“We have procedures.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“If you actually had an executive appointment, someone would have notified the floor.”
“Perhaps someone did.”
“They didn’t.”
The Black man looked toward the staircase at the rear of the boutique.
Above it, a frosted glass door led to private salons, administrative offices, and a secure heritage viewing room.