“Yes.”
She gave the surname.
Silence.
Then her posture changed completely.
“Oh.”
The blonde clerk saw.
“What?”
The junior associate did not answer.
The person upstairs said something else.
The junior associate looked toward the staircase.
“Yes, sir.”
She slowly replaced the phone.
The blonde clerk stepped closer.
“Who was that?”
The junior associate looked at her.
“The regional president.”
The clerk’s face tightened.
“And?”
Before the young woman could answer, something moved behind the frosted glass above the staircase.
A door opened.
Fast footsteps.
Not walking.
Running.
The regional president appeared at the top of the stairs.
White American man.
Late fifties.
Silver hair.
Dark navy suit.
No jacket buttoned because he had apparently put it on while moving.
Two executives hurried behind him.
He looked across the boutique.
Saw the Black man.
Stopped for half a second.
Then came down the stairs much faster than anyone expected a regional president of a global luxury house to move.
The blonde clerk’s face lost color.
The Black man remained exactly where he had been standing.
The president reached the floor.
Walked directly past the clerk.
Past security.
Past the counter.
Stopped in front of the Black man.
“Sir.”
The Black man nodded.
“Good morning.”
The regional president extended both hands.
Not one.
Both.
“I am so sorry.”
The clerk stared.
The regional president continued.
“We expected you upstairs.”
“I arrived early.”
“You should have called me.”
“I thought I’d look around.”
The regional president glanced toward the blonde clerk.
Then the security specialist.
Then the junior associate.
He read the room instantly.
“What happened?”
The Black man looked toward the clerk.
She spoke before he could.
“There was a misunderstanding.”
The regional president’s expression changed.
The Black man looked at him.
“I asked to see the repeater.”
The president nodded.
“Of course.”
The clerk looked as though someone had removed the floor beneath her.
The regional president continued:
“It was prepared last night.”
He turned toward one of the executives behind him.
“Is the heritage room ready?”
“Yes.”
“Documentation?”
“Yes.”
“Collector archive?”
“Yes.”
The Black man nodded.
“Good.”
The blonde clerk stared.
The regional president finally looked directly at her.
“Why is our guest standing downstairs?”
She swallowed.