Derek's smile flickered. Just for a second. "Oh. You mean the lady from earlier? Sir, we had a small incident. A customer became aggressive and we're handling it with security. Nothing to worry about. Now, can I show you our new—"
"Take me to her. Now." It wasn't a request. It wasn't loud. But something in the way he said it made Derek's mouth close on its own.
Derek hesitated, then he forced a smile back on. "Of course. Right this way."
They walked down the hallway. Derek opened the office door. Beverly was sitting exactly where she'd been for the past 20 minutes, hands folded, back straight, water cup half empty. Greg was still standing by the door. He looked up when they entered.
The man in the gray suit stopped in the doorway. For a moment, he didn't move. He just looked at Beverly. Her left cheek was swollen. Her glasses were gone. A small red mark ran along the edge of her cheekbone where Derek's palm had landed.
The man's jaw tightened. His hands clenched at his sides. One breath. Two breaths. Then he walked to her slowly. He knelt down beside the chair right there on the office floor in his $2,000 suit and picked up her hands.
"Grandma."
One word. That's all it took.
Beverly looked at him and for the first time since the slap, her eyes filled with tears. Not from pain. Not from humiliation. From relief.
"Baby," she whispered. "You came."
"I'm here."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a glasses case. A spare pair. He always kept one for her in his car, in his office, in his jacket. Because Beverly Foster was always losing her glasses, and Nathan Foster was always ready. He unfolded them gently and placed them on her face.
Beverly blinked. The room came back into focus. She touched his cheek. "I'm okay," she said. "Don't make a fuss."
"Who did this to you?"
Beverly didn't answer. She didn't have to.
The man stood up, turned around, and looked at Derek Caldwell. Derek's brain was still trying to catch up. The word "grandma" was bouncing around inside his skull, but it hadn't landed yet. He was smiling, that nervous automatic smile of someone who knows something is wrong, but doesn't know what.
"Sir, I'm not sure what she told you, but I can explain."
"My name is Nathan Foster."
The smile didn't fade. Not yet.
Derek nodded. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Foster. Like I said, this was a minor—"
"I'm the CEO of Prestige and Hall."
Now the smile died. It didn't fade. It collapsed. Every muscle in Derek Caldwell's face went slack at the same time. His lips parted. His eyes widened. The color drained out of his cheeks like someone had pulled a plug.
"You... What?"
"I own this store." Nathan's voice was steady. Every word measured. "All 126 of them. Including this one. Including that office you're standing in. Including the floor my grandmother is sitting on right now."
Derek took one step backward. His heel hit the doorframe.
"And the woman you put in this room, the woman you called trash, the woman you said smelled like a bus, the woman whose hand you slapped in front of a store full of people, is Beverly Foster, my grandmother, the woman who raised me."
The room was dead silent. Greg hadn't moved. His mouth was open. His arms hung loose at his sides. Tanya appeared in the hallway behind Derek. She had heard every word. Her hand was over her mouth. Tears were already running.
Derek's voice came out cracked, thin. "Mr. Foster, I... I had no idea she was—"
"She was what?" Nathan stepped forward. Not aggressive, not threatening, just closer. "Go ahead. Finish that sentence."
Derek swallowed. "I didn't know she was your family."
Nathan let that sentence hang in the air. He let it sit there so everyone could hear it, so everyone could feel the weight of what Derek just admitted without realizing it. Then Nathan said the thing that broke Derek Caldwell in half.
"So, if she wasn't my grandmother, if she was just some old woman off the street with no connections, no last name, no one coming to save her, then what you did would have been fine?"
Derek opened his mouth. Nothing came out. "That's not... I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly what you did." Nathan's voice didn't rise, not once. "You looked at her and decided she was nothing. You didn't check. You didn't ask. You just looked at her skin, her shoes, her purse, and you decided."
Derek's back was against the wall now, literally. His shoulder blades pressed against the door frame. His eyes were darting to Greg, to Tanya, to the floor, anywhere except Nathan's face.
"Sir, please. I've worked here for 6 years. I've never had a complaint."
"You've never had a complaint because the people you do this to don't have a grandson who owns the building."
That line landed like a hammer. Greg looked at the floor. Tanya closed her eyes. Even Claire, still standing at the far end of the hallway with her phone, lowered her head. Because it was true, and everyone in that room knew it.
Nathan turned to Greg. "Is there security footage?"
Greg nodded fast. "Yes, sir, but camera 3 has a blind spot. The slap itself isn't—"