As the elevator descended, Terrence caught sight of himself in the mirrored wall. The charcoal suit and carefully pressed shirt made him look like another polished executive heading to lunch. He thought of Willa's fading blouse, her trembling hands, and the wheelchair she had resisted using until there was no safe alternative. He could remember her working through colds when he was a child, keeping the store open because families depended on their paychecks. The idea that someone had touched her in anger made his stomach turn.
He wanted to drive faster than the streets allowed. Instead, he took a slow breath at each traffic light and made himself focus on getting there safely. Twice he had to stop his hands from tightening around the steering wheel. There would be time to find out what happened. There would be time for action. Right now his mother was waiting, and she had called him because she trusted him to come.
Back at the flagship, Patricia's call had brought two Charlotte-Mecklenburg police officers through the glass doors twelve minutes after Willa dialed Terrence. One officer, Officer Marcus Bell, was in his mid-thirties and carried a notebook that had been bent from use. His partner, Officer Elena Morales, was older and immediately noticed the unusual stillness of the store. Customers stood in loose groups with their phones out, a security guard blocked the space between a manager and an elderly woman, and medication bottles had been scattered and gathered again near a jewelry counter.
Derek moved toward the officers before either could reach Willa. His smile reappeared as though someone had switched it on. "Officers, thank you for responding. We've had a very difficult situation with a customer and her companion. I'm the store manager, Derek Caldwell."
He offered a hand. Bell shook it briefly, then waited. Derek explained that a woman had refused to leave after being directed toward more appropriate merchandise, that staff suspected theft, and that the companion had become combative when asked to cooperate. He spoke fluently and arranged the story into a neat sequence that made him seem like a man coping with an unreasonable guest. He omitted the bag search, the shove, the slap, and the kick.
Officer Morales looked past him toward the wheelchair. Willa's face was pale, and she held one hand close to her body. Nadine stood behind her with a protective posture that did not resemble aggression. Two witnesses were visibly recording. Curtis remained near the counter, his jaw tight and his body positioned between Derek and the people he had accused.
"We'll speak to everyone separately," Morales said. "Sir, give us room to do that."
Derek glanced at the witnesses. "Certainly. I only need her removed before she disturbs any more clients."
"We'll decide what needs to happen after we understand what occurred," Bell replied.
They approached Willa without crowding her. Bell introduced himself and asked for identification. Willa handed over her license with some difficulty, and Nadine offered to hold the small wallet open while she did. Bell noticed the swelling and discoloration across her knuckles and asked whether she required medical assistance.