Chapter 2
Z
"I think we all would like an explanation," the older gentleman repeated, his voice cutting through the polished hush of the showroom like a razor. He drew himself up, exposing a heavy, white-gold signet ring on his pinky finger. "I’ve been a client of this establishment for twenty years, Julian. If this is how you treat grieving families, I will gladly take my portfolio elsewhere."
Julian’s face drained completely white, turning the color of skim milk. Sweat began to bead along his freshly faded hairline. "Mr. Vance, please," Julian pleaded, his voice squeaking slightly as his confident posture collapsed inward. "It was an honest error. The bezel looked aftermarket at a glance, and—"
"You didn't look at the bezel," I interrupted, my voice dead calm. The adrenaline that had been making my knees tremble suddenly hardened into something solid and unyielding. "You didn't turn it over. You didn't even pick it up. You took one look at my stroller, decided I was trash, and threw a fifty-dollar bill at me like a insult."
The gathered patrons—a couple shopping for engagement rings, a woman in a pastel Chanel suit, and Mr. Vance—began whispering loudly among themselves. The woman in Chanel looked at Julian with disgust, pulling her suede handbag closer to her chest.
"What is going on here?"
A deep, commanding voice boomed from the back offices. A towering man with silvered hair, wearing an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, stepped out onto the marble floor. His name tag read Arthur Pendelton, General Manager.
Julian gasped, scrambling for words. "Mr. Pendelton! Sir, this woman came in causing a commotion, making unsubstantiated claims—"
"He tried to buy my late husband’s Rolex Submariner for fifty dollars," I said, stepping forward before Julian could spin the story. I snatched the papers off the glass and held out the original purchase receipt and the stamped, official appraisal document. "My husband died two weeks ago. My accounts are frozen. My children are hungry. And your employee tried to rob me."
Mr. Pendelton took the papers from my hand. His eyes scanned the header, and his eyebrow twitched upward. He looked at the serial number on the paper, then carefully reached down to pick up the watch from the glass. Unlike Julian, Mr. Pendelton pulled a jeweler's loupe from his breast pocket, snapped it into his eye socket, and inspected the timepiece under the bright showroom LED lighting.
Silence gripped the store. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic squeak of my stroller as my youngest shifted in her seat.
After a long minute, Pendelton pulled the loupe from his eye. He looked at Julian. The look was cold enough to freeze boiling water.
"Julian," Pendelton said softly, a deadly quiet in his tone. "Did you offer this woman fifty dollars for a reference 1680 Red Submariner with full box and papers?"
"I... I thought it was a replica, sir," Julian stammered, backing up against the glass display cases. "The condition... she pulled it out of a diaper bag!"
"It was appraised three months ago by your own master horologist in this very store," Pendelton barked, his voice suddenly sharp as a whip. "The signature on this document belongs to me."
Gasps echoed off the glass display cases. Mr. Vance shook his head in disgust. "Unbelievable," the older man muttered. "Absolute predatory behavior."
"Mr. Pendelton, please!" Julian gasped, his hands raised in surrender. "I was just trying to protect store inventory—"
"Pack your things," Pendelton said without looking at him. "Clear out your locker and leave through the back door. You are fired, effective immediately."
"Sir—"
"Now, Julian."
Julian stood frozen for a second, his face burning red with humiliation. He cast a murderous glance in my direction—a look so laced with hatred that a cold shiver ran straight down my spine. But he didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the back hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the floor.
Pendelton breathed in slowly, composing himself, before turning to face me. The tight, angry lines on his face smoothed into an expression of profound remorse.
"Ma'am, I cannot begin to apologize for the appalling behavior you just experienced," Pendelton said, his voice dropping to a gentle, respectful cadence. "Your husband, Marcus... I remember him. He was a true gentleman and a passionate collector. I was devastated to hear of his passing."
A lump formed in my throat at the mention of Marcus's name. I swallowed it down, gripping the handle of the stroller. "Thank you. I just... I need to feed my children, Mr. Pendelton. The probate court has everything locked up."
"I understand completely," Pendelton said softly. "Please, step into my office. Let me handle this transaction personally. I will give you the full, fair market value for the piece right now."
Fifteen minutes later, I walked out of the store's glass doors carrying a cashier's check for twenty-four thousand dollars, along with five hundred dollars in crisp cash that Pendelton had personally withdrawn from the store safe so I could buy immediate groceries.
Standing on the sidewalk, the bright afternoon sun hit my face. My hands were still shaking, but for the first time in fourteen days, I could breathe. I looked down at my toddlers. "We're going to get food now, baby," I whispered to my oldest. "Mommy's got you."
I pushed the heavy stroller down the busy Manhattan sidewalk, heading toward the nearest bank to deposit the check. But as I walked, an eerie sensation prickled the back of my neck.
I stopped near the entrance of a subway station and looked over my shoulder.
Across the street, standing near the shadowed awning of a coffee shop, was Julian. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His tie was loosened, and he was staring directly at me. In his hand, he held a cell phone up to his ear, his lips moving rapidly as his dark eyes locked onto mine.
May you like
When he saw me looking, he didn't turn away. He just smiled—a slow, bitter, menacing smile—and tapped the side of his phone before slipping it into his pocket.
A dread deeper than poverty settled over my stomach. The watch was sold, but as I clutched the envelope of cash against my chest, I realized my nightmare was far from over.
