Croft watched the guard serve her water with a look of irritation. "We aren't running a retirement home," he muttered.
William heard. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself not to respond as though every fresh insult were a separate battle to be won. He wanted Croft's conduct documented, not buried beneath an argument Croft could later recast as a confrontation between two angry men. He moved beside his grandmother's chair and asked Anna whether she would be comfortable describing what she had witnessed to the gallery's owner.
"More than comfortable," she said. "And I wrote the exact words down while they were being said."
She turned her phone toward him. In a note made minutes earlier, she had recorded the remarks about Christina's clothes, money, and belonging. The note was not a perfect transcript, and Anna said so, but it would later help reconstruct an event the manager had already begun to deny.
Lena emerged from behind the reception desk holding a printed vehicle information sheet. Her hands shook as she approached. "Mrs. Bennett, I should have given this to you as soon as you asked. I'm sorry. Here are the inspection details and the contact information for an independent inspection if you would like one."
Christina looked up at her. "Thank you, sweetheart. You have nothing to apologize for when you're doing your best to help."
Croft strode toward the receptionist. "Lena, who authorized you to release that?"
"It's the customer copy, sir," Lena said. "The same sheet we give anyone who requests information about a listed vehicle."
"Back to your desk. Now."
Lena went still. William took the document without letting Croft pull it away, and read the heading at the top. The information was ordinary sales material, not private records, which made the manager's objection even more revealing. Croft did not appear concerned about the car; he appeared concerned that his employees might act independently of his prejudices.
"You keep telling everyone to do their jobs," William said. "What happens when they try?"
Croft stared at him. "If you think you can do better, you are welcome to apply."
"Maybe I should," William replied. His tone was so mild that Anna almost smiled, though Christina continued watching him with growing worry. She recognized the quiet voice he used when he'd made a decision and was weighing its consequences.
"Baby," she whispered, "please don't let this ruin your day."
"It hasn't ruined mine," he said. "I'm worried about what it's done to yours."
The showroom's front entrance opened again. A gray-haired white American man in a dark jacket entered from the administrative wing, accompanied by a woman carrying a tablet. He was Martin Sterling, sixty-one, president and managing partner of the gallery, and he had crossed the building at a pace his knees would complain about that evening. Croft straightened his tie, stepped forward, and adopted a smile that looked painfully familiar to Lena.
"Mr. Sterling, thank goodness you're here," Croft said. "We've had a small problem with a difficult customer. I was just handling it professionally."