Because Luminous Designs had become something more personal.
Diana had spent too many years walking into expensive spaces and watching employees decide what she could afford before she spoke.
She remembered one Manhattan jeweler who had refused to unlock a display case for her, then watched with horror when she purchased a piece worth four times as much at the store across the street.
She remembered another salesperson asking whether she was “shopping for someone.”
She remembered being followed.
Ignored.
Redirected toward less expensive merchandise.
Asked questions other customers were not asked.
Every experience had made the idea for Luminous clearer.
One principle became almost sacred inside the company:
No employee decides a customer’s value before the customer tells you what they need.
It appeared in training.
In management meetings.
In customer-service workshops.
In onboarding materials.
Diana repeated it so often that longtime employees teased her about it.
Yet lately, there had been warning signs.
The Beverly Hills location was financially excellent.
Too excellent, perhaps.
Monthly revenue averaged roughly $2.3 million. High-net-worth customers returned frequently. Celebrity stylists had relationships with the sales team. Large transactions closed efficiently.
On paper, Patricia Wittmann was succeeding.
But customer-service data told a more complicated story.
Several lower-spend customers had complained about feeling dismissed.
One woman reported that staff stopped helping her after learning she wanted a repair rather than a new purchase.
A young couple wrote that they felt pressured to leave after mentioning a $3,000 budget.
An anonymous review described a “beautiful store with a cold attitude if you don’t look rich.”
Individually, none proved a pattern.
Together, they bothered Diana.
Two weeks earlier, her chief operating officer, Sarah Grant, had mentioned the Beverly Hills numbers during a Monday meeting.
“Revenue is strong.”
“Complaints?”
“Higher than peer stores.”
“Manager?”
“Wittmann.”
“I know.”
“HR has nothing formal enough for action.”
Diana looked at the report.
“Turnover?”
“Up.”
“How much?”
Sarah checked.
“Sales associates, about nineteen percent higher than comparable flagship locations over the last two quarters.”
Diana looked up.
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then we should.”
That was when she decided to visit personally.
She did not tell Patricia.
She did not tell the regional director.
Only Sarah and the board chair knew Diana planned to stop by.
At 6:35, Diana left home.
She passed two luxury vehicles in her garage.
Then continued toward the old Honda Civic parked near the side wall.
The 2003 Honda was silver, though years of Southern California sun had softened the paint. One rear door carried a tiny dent. The radio occasionally lost the left speaker. The air conditioner took too long to cool the car in August.
Diana loved it.
She had bought the Honda in the first year Luminous produced enough profit for her to stop worrying about rent every month.
Her financial adviser had repeatedly told her the car was economically irrational because maintenance now cost more than depreciation on a replacement.
Diana always answered the same way.
“So?”
For her, the Honda was not about frugality.
It was memory.
A reminder of sleeping on an office floor.
Of eating instant noodles while shipping engagement rings.
Of borrowing her cousin’s car to deliver inventory because hers had broken down.
Of the years when a $900 repair bill could ruin an entire month.
She drove west through morning traffic.
By 8:14, she turned onto Rodeo Drive.
Even early, the district carried a polished calm. Delivery vans occupied curb spaces. Store employees arrived through side entrances. Landscaping crews trimmed already-perfect greenery. Window displays glowed beneath carefully controlled lighting.
Diana pulled the Honda into a nearby garage rather than using valet parking.
She did not think anything of it.
Patricia eventually would.
At 8:27, Diana approached the front entrance of Luminous Designs.
The flagship occupied a corner space with tall glass panels framed in pale limestone. The company name appeared in brushed brass above the doorway.
LUMINOUS DESIGNS.
Diana paused outside.
She still did that sometimes.
The first store had been 900 square feet.
The Beverly Hills flagship covered nearly 8,000.
Success still surprised her when she allowed herself to look at it.
The doors opened.
A soft chime sounded.
The interior was exactly as she remembered.
Warm white lighting.
Cream stone.
Dark walnut.
Display cases positioned to create open sight lines without making the room feel exposed.