Chapter 1 - The Pale Manager
The heavy glass-and-brass door of the manager's office swung wide, and Ethan Reed strode out with the brisk, practiced authority of a man who managed one of Maison Avery’s most lucrative flagship locations. He was buttoning his suit jacket as he approached, a practiced expression of diplomatic annoyance already taking shape on his face.
“Natalie, what is going on? We have regional auditors reviewing the Q3 inventory, and I don't have time for—,” Ethan started, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient hum of the luxury boutique.
Then his eyes locked onto the center of the display floor.
He saw Marcus, the security guard, with his thick fingers clamped around a woman’s wrist. He saw Natalie standing beside them with a smug, victorious smile. And finally, he saw the woman caught in the middle of their trap: wearing plain jeans, white sneakers, a gray sweater, and holding a silk emerald gown with a torn back panel.
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. The color drained from his face so fast it looked as though someone had pulled a plug in his veins. The diplomatic frown vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated horror.
Natalie, completely blind to the terrifying realization washing over her manager, stepped forward to claim her victory.
“Ethan, thank God,” Natalie chirped, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “This customer was handling the high-end evening wear without authorization. She tried on the emerald silk, and when I confronted her about a tear in the back panel, she became combative and refused to cooperate with security. We’re going to need to hold her ID and assess the full retail damage to her account.”
Marcus nodded in agreement, tightening his grip slightly on the wrist he held. “Standard procedure, Mr. Reed. She wouldn't give her name.”
For three terrifying seconds, Ethan didn't move a muscle. He looked at Marcus’s hand on the customer’s wrist, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He knew this woman’s face better than he knew his own quarterly profit margins. Six months ago, she had sat at the head of a walnut conference table in Manhattan, reviewing every single employee evaluation for this district, including his own.
Her name was Clara Vance.
And she wasn't just a random shopper in a gray sweater. She was the executive vice president of retail operations for the entire Maison Avery parent corporation.
“Marcus,” Ethan’s voice cracked, high and thin with panic.
“Yes, Mr. Reed?” Marcus asked, blinking.
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“Let. Go. Of. Her. Wrist. Right. Now.”
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