Willa read the card once more before sealing it. Her hand ached from writing it. She did not tell Nadine that she had needed three separate mornings to finish six short sentences. When the van finally came, Nadine tucked a blanket around Willa's legs, secured the chair correctly, and climbed in beside her. They rolled away from the small brick house toward uptown Charlotte, where the windows were cleaner, the storefronts taller, and the streets named after people whose families had once treated Willa as an unlikely businesswoman.
Willa watched the city change through the van window. She remembered streets where stores had closed, businesses that had survived, and corners where she had stood in the rain waiting for a bus with garment bags over her shoulder. Near the old Trade Street address, she glanced toward the buildings without asking the driver to slow down. The original Beaumont storefront was no longer there, replaced by a restaurant with a brightly painted awning. She had known that for years. It still hurt a little every time she passed.
"You all right?" Nadine asked.
"I was thinking how many times I carried boxes through these streets," Willa said. "Sometimes I walked because the cab fare would have paid for another display tray."
"You did all that?"
"Not alone. Plenty of people helped. But I did a good bit of walking." Willa adjusted the blanket. "I'm glad I remember it. Makes it easier to be grateful for the rides."
At the flagship, another morning was unfolding. Derek Caldwell stood before six sales associates in the back office, using words polished enough to hide exactly what he meant. He was thirty-eight, tall and sharply dressed, with dark hair styled carefully above light blue eyes. His charcoal Tom Ford suit fit perfectly, and his expensive watch caught the fluorescent light every time he checked it. He looked like the kind of luxury executive a recruiter might place on the cover of a brochure before asking what he had actually accomplished.
Derek believed presentation was substance. He came from a background of ambitious sales jobs and knew how to cultivate wealthy customers who liked being recognized. He remembered birthdays, sent handwritten notes to people with large purchase histories, and was skilled at making a customer feel exclusive when he wanted something from them. Those abilities had earned promotions, then authority, and finally the management position at the flagship store. Somewhere along the way, he had mistaken the ability to flatter influential people for the ability to judge the value of everyone else.
His morning briefing revolved around something he called brand alignment. He stood beside a screen displaying revenue targets and reminded the staff that a flagship could not afford to look like a general department store. The important clients, he said, expected an atmosphere of refinement. Employees should protect that atmosphere by managing who was permitted to linger near expensive merchandise.