“Bring me the footage.”
Lorenzo Rossi did not raise his voice.
That made the command worse.
The security guard stood frozen near the door, looking first at Brenda, then at Lorenzo, as if trying to decide whose authority mattered more inside Maison Delacour.
Brenda recovered quickly.
“Mr.
Rossi,” she said, smoothing the front of her jacket, “I’m certain that won’t be necessary.
This was simply a personnel matter complicated by an unfortunate incident involving your daughter.”
Mia tightened both hands around Lorenzo’s sleeve.
“Karen helped me.”
Lorenzo looked down at her.
His expression softened for one second.
“I know, piccola.”
Then he looked back at the guard.
“The footage.”
The guard moved.
Brenda followed him two steps before stopping herself.
“You cannot simply demand access to our security system.”
Lorenzo’s gaze settled on her.
“Then you can describe what happened while we wait.”
Brenda swallowed.
Around them, the boutique had become painfully quiet.
The customers who had treated Mia’s panic like an inconvenience were suddenly studying handbags, shoes, anything except the people in the center of the marble floor.
Karen stood beside the counter with her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
Her mind had not caught up with what was happening.
Ten minutes ago, her greatest fear had been losing her job.
Now Lorenzo Rossi was standing between her and the manager who had fired her, asking for evidence.
Karen did not know whether that made the situation better or much more dangerous.
Brenda pointed toward her.
“Your daughter entered without supervision.
She began screaming and disturbing clients.
I instructed security to escort her outside so we could identify whoever was responsible for her.
Karen interfered.
She shut off store lighting, removed merchandise from a display, and ignored repeated instructions from management.”
Lorenzo listened without interrupting.
That seemed to encourage Brenda.
“This is a luxury business,” she continued.
“We have standards.
Procedures.
Clients expect a certain environment.
Karen made an emotional decision that could have created liability for everyone.”
Karen stared at her.
Emotional.
As if kneeling beside a terrified child had been some reckless act of sentiment.
Lorenzo glanced at the scarf still wrapped around Mia’s shoulders.
“This merchandise?”
“A twenty-eight-hundred-dollar cashmere scarf,” Brenda said.
“She put it on Mia?”
“Without authorization.”
Mia touched the soft fabric.
“It helped.”
Lorenzo’s eyes returned to Brenda.
“And you charged Karen for it?”
Brenda hesitated.
“It would have been deducted from her final compensation, yes.”
“Why?”
