“Then someone made a mistake.”
The clerk crossed her arms.
“Apparently.”
The junior associate looked toward the reservation terminal.
There was a list of private appointments.
Most visible only as initials.
One at eleven thirty had no name at all.
Just:
Private Client — Regional President
The junior associate stared.
Eleven thirty.
She checked the clock.
11:18.
The Black man had arrived twelve minutes early.
Her stomach tightened.
She moved toward the senior clerk.
“Can I show you something?”
The blonde clerk did not look at her.
“Not now.”
“I think—”
“I said not now.”
The Black man heard.
So did the security specialist.
The junior associate stepped back.
The clerk looked toward the man.
“Let’s start again.”
“Fine.”
“What watch are you asking for?”
He answered.
“The astronomical repeater.”
This time the clerk did not laugh.
She stared.
The junior associate’s mouth opened slightly.
The security specialist stopped pretending not to listen.
The astronomical repeater was not displayed.
It was not in the downstairs inventory system.
Most employees had never seen it.
The piece had arrived from Europe four days earlier under armed transfer.
One watch.
One.
A manually wound grand complication built over six years.
Minute repeater.
Astronomical indications.
Equation of time.
Star map calibrated to the buyer’s chosen latitude.
Hand-engraved movement.
Unique case.
One-of-one dial.
The house had not publicly announced its arrival.
Only a handful of collectors worldwide had even been informed that it might become available.
The blonde clerk leaned closer.
“Where did you hear about that?”
The Black man looked at her.
“From the person who invited me to see it.”
Silence.
The clerk recovered.
“That piece is not available to walk-in customers.”
“I know.”
“It is being held privately.”
“I know.”
“It has not been offered publicly.”
“I know.”
Her irritation returned.
“Then why are you standing here asking me?”
“Because I arrived early.”
The junior associate looked toward the appointment screen again.
11:30.
Private Client.
Regional President.
She stepped forward.
“I think we should call upstairs.”
The blonde clerk turned sharply.
“What?”
“The eleven-thirty.”
“I know about the eleven-thirty.”
“It might be—”
“It is not.”
“How do you know?”
The clerk stared at the junior associate.
The question should have been harmless.