Victor's jaw tightened. "Enough. You're on your final warning." He gestured toward the back office, where a glass door stood partly open. "Go finish the inventory count. I'll deal with you when he's gone."
Emma did not go. Instead she picked up the store's service phone and dialed the internal number for retail operations, which was supposed to be available whenever a serious complaint could not be resolved at the counter. The line went to voicemail. She left a short message with the time, the customer's name as he had given it, and a request for immediate help, taking care not to expose any payment details.
Victor watched her with open contempt. "You think some voice from corporate is going to rescue you?" he asked. "I know the regional team. They listen to me. They know who makes this store money." Emma replaced the receiver and looked toward David, apologetic that she had not been able to produce someone at once.
David had already taken out his phone. His fingers were steady, though he was more upset than he allowed himself to appear. He selected a contact labeled Richard Ellison and waited while the phone rang. Richard had worked with him for more than two decades and was one of the few people David trusted to handle an uncomfortable matter without turning it into theater.
Richard answered on the second ring. "David? Everything all right?" The warmth in his voice told David he had been caught by surprise, which was unsurprising; the two men rarely spoke during the middle of a workday unless an urgent decision was required. "Richard," David said, "I'm at the ground-floor jewelry store. Please come down and help me."
There was a brief silence. "Bellweather? Are you in the building right now?"
Richard asked. David looked at the broken card, then at Emma, who was pretending not to listen. "I am," he said. "And I'd appreciate it if you came yourself."
"I'm upstairs," Richard answered. "I'll be right there." David ended the call and returned his phone to his jacket pocket. Victor gave a theatrical sigh, clearly convinced he had just witnessed an elderly man summon a friend to participate in a performance.
"Who are you calling to play along with your little act?" he demanded. David met his eyes. "Someone who can resolve this," he replied, without offering the reassurance or explanation Victor wanted. "Resolve this," Victor repeated mockingly, as though the idea itself were absurd.
Near the entrance, Theo Grant, the security guard assigned to the retail arcade, had been observing the exchange with growing concern. His instructions required him to intervene if someone threatened another person or attempted a theft, neither of which David had done. Victor had gestured toward him several times, but Theo had not received a legitimate request for protective assistance. He stepped a little closer to the showroom, positioning himself where he could see the counter without turning the situation into a physical confrontation.