I set my worn leather handbag on her glass counter, very gently, and pulled out a slim folder. Celeste rolled her eyes. “Ma’am, unless that’s a platinum card, I’m calling security.” I slid the folder open. Inside was the deed to the Holloway Arcade, the entire six-story building that housed Verlaine & Coeur on its ground floor, along with the signed lease bearing her regional director’s signature and my own. Her swan pin caught the light as she froze. “I’m Margaret Holloway,” I said quietly. “I own this building. And per section fourteen of your lease, tenants may be evaluated on customer treatment during unannounced ownership visits.” A hush fell across the boutique. One customer actually gasped. Celeste’s mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled from cold water. “I, I didn’t, ma’am, please, I was having a difficult morning.” I nodded slowly, tucking the folder back into my worn bag. “So was I. My husband loved this jacket. He passed in March. I wore it today because my granddaughter graduates tomorrow, and he can’t be there.” Celeste’s eyes filled with tears, though I suspect they were for her commission, not for me. I turned to the young sales associate trembling by the register, a girl no older than twenty with a name tag reading Priya. “You were kind when I walked in. You said good morning. Do you know how rare that is?” Priya nodded, stunned. I looked back at Celeste one final time. “Verlaine & Coeur’s lease renewal is next month. My office will be in touch with your corporate parent regarding this location’s management. In the meantime, Priya, I’d like that Lyon scarf, please. Full price. And a raise recommendation for you goes in my report tonight.” Celeste sank onto her stool as Priya rang me up with shaking, grateful hands. I walked out into the sunlight smelling my husband’s jacket, holding a silk scarf the color of the sea he used to fish, feeling him beside me for the first time in months.
