The moment someone stopped being able to explain the reason for an action, they began describing the person questioning them as difficult.
She had seen it in corporate meetings.
She had seen it during negotiations.
And she had seen it in customer-service investigations.
Now she was seeing it in her own store.
“Officer,” she said quietly, “I am willing to cooperate with any lawful request. But I would like to understand why you are making it.”
Brennan’s expression tightened.
“Your identification, please.”
Camille slowly moved her right hand toward the inside pocket of her coat.
Brennan’s hand shifted toward his belt.
She immediately stopped.
“Wallet,” she said.
The officer nodded.
Only then did she reach inside.
She removed a slim black card holder.
Inside were her driver’s license, several corporate cards, and a black executive credential bearing the silver crest of Vale Rowe.
She looked at the credential for half a second.
Then she deliberately selected her driver’s license.
She handed it to Brennan.
He examined it.
“Camille Porter.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the Manhattan address.
Then at her face.
Something about the name seemed vaguely familiar.
But he could not place it.
He returned his attention to the license.
“All right, Ms. Porter. Just stay here while I sort this out.”
Camille looked at him.
“How much longer?”
“Until I determine what’s going on.”
“Then perhaps you should speak with the employees who actually work here.”
Martin shifted uncomfortably.
Brennan turned toward him.
“Mr. Keene, I need you to explain what happened from the beginning.”
Martin nodded.
“Yes, Officer.”
“Start with the first thing that made you believe a theft might have occurred.”
Martin opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Evelyn looked irritated.
“Officer, I already explained—”
“I’m speaking with the manager, ma’am.”
She fell silent.
Camille placed the dresses carefully on the cream-colored suede display table.
Not because Brennan had ordered her to.
Because she had decided that doing so would remove another unnecessary distraction.
Then she stepped back.
Her posture remained relaxed.
Her expression was unreadable.
And for the first time since the officer had entered the building, she looked toward the circular marble staircase leading to the executive offices.
There was a small brass plaque beside the entrance.
It carried the company’s name.
VALE ROWE.
Beneath it, in smaller letters, was a statement that most customers never noticed.
Founded on the belief that dignity should never depend on wealth, appearance, or circumstance.
Camille had written those words herself.
Her mother had helped her choose them.
She looked at the plaque for a moment.
Then she turned back toward the officer.
“Officer Brennan?”
He glanced at her.
“What?”
“I have one more question.”
He sighed.
“What is it?”
“Has anyone contacted the regional director?”
Martin looked up sharply.
Evelyn frowned.
Brennan shook his head.
“Why would we need to do that?”
Camille gave him a calm, almost sympathetic look.
“Because I think you’re going to want someone from corporate here before this goes any further.”
Evelyn laughed.
“Corporate?”