It was patience. The kind of patience that comes from knowing, truly knowing, that the storm is almost over. Not because it will fade, but because something bigger is coming.
Beverly took a sip of water, set the cup down, folded her hands again, and waited.
Out front, Derek was joking with a customer about golf. The police were on their way. The report was written. The cameras were useless.
Every door was closed. He had locked Beverly Foster in a box with no witnesses, no evidence, and no allies. Or so he thought. Because right then, at that exact moment, a silver car pulled into the parking lot.
A man in a gray suit stepped out. He didn't rush. He fixed his cuffs. He looked up at the Prestige and Hall sign above the door. Then he walked inside.
The glass door opened. A man walked in. Mid-30s, gray suit, clean shave. The kind of presence that makes people stand up straighter without knowing why.
Derek spotted him immediately. New face, expensive clothes. This was the kind of customer Derek lived for. He crossed the floor in four steps.
Big smile, shoulders back, full performance mode. Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Prestige and Hall. I'm Derek Caldwell, store manager.
How can I help you today? The man didn't look at him. He was scanning the store. His eyes moved across the racks, past the register, past Tanya, who had looked up the moment he walked in, and toward the back hallway.
"Sir." Derek stepped into his line of sight. "Is there something specific I can help you with?" The man finally looked at him.
His eyes were calm, but there was something underneath, something cold. "Where is she?" Derek blinked.
"I'm sorry." The older woman, the one you brought to the back. Where is she? 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 his 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.