When she was twenty-six she left the kiosk and started Thornfield and Company online, a small brand built on ethical sourcing. She bought stones from cutters she had vetted herself, she published the origin of every piece, and she answered every customer email herself for the first three years. The brand grew slowly, the way honest things do, by word of mouth and by repeat customers who came back because the ring they had bought the first time was exactly what it had been promised to be. She never had a storefront. She worked from a rented bench in a shared studio, and later from a small workshop above a bakery in the Pearl District, where the smell of bread came up through the floorboards in the morning and the light through the north windows was good for grading. She liked the work. She liked the quiet of the bench, the concentration of setting a stone, the moment when a piece came together and looked like itself. But she had always wanted a real shop, a place with a door that opened onto a street and a case where a person could stand and look, and when the opportunity came, three weeks before this story opens, she took it.
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Black CEO Was Refused Service In Her Own Jewelry Store — 11 Minutes Later, Every Employee Regretted It
Chapter 2
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