The marble floor of the Bellmont Jewelry House reflected every chandelier above it.
Everything inside the store seemed designed to remind visitors that ordinary people did not belong there.
The walls were covered with dark walnut panels.
Glass cases displayed diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, pearls, and watches that cost more than most houses.
A private security guard stood beside the entrance.
Two sales assistants whispered near the counter.
And behind the largest display case stood Vincent Bellmont.
At seventy-one years old, Vincent was the owner of Bellmont Jewelry House, one of the most prestigious jewelry businesses in the city.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit.
His silver hair was combed backward.
His watch alone was worth more than a new luxury car.
People who entered his store were usually wealthy.
Business owners.
Celebrities.
Politicians.
Old-money families.
Foreign investors.
They came wearing designer clothes and carrying expensive handbags.
Vincent understood rich people.
He understood their habits.
He knew how they spoke.
How they walked.
How they negotiated.
And, most importantly, he believed he could recognize wealth at a glance.
That belief was about to cost him something far more valuable than money.
It was nearly eleven in the morning when the glass doors opened.
A woman walked inside.
Vincent looked up.
Then immediately looked back down.
She was perhaps thirty-five.
Her dark hair was tied loosely behind her head.
She wore a plain beige sweater.
Old jeans.
Brown boots.
There was nothing luxurious about her appearance.
But what caught Vincent's attention was the bag hanging from her shoulder.
It was large.
Canvas.
Worn at the edges.
One of the handles had clearly been repaired by hand.
She held it carefully against her side.
The woman paused just inside the entrance.
She looked around.
Her eyes moved across the jewelry cases.
For a second, she seemed almost overwhelmed.
Vincent sighed.
One of the sales assistants approached him.
"Sir?"
Vincent quietly said,
"Give her a minute."
The assistant nodded.
The woman walked toward the nearest display.
She looked at a diamond necklace.
Then a gold bracelet.
Then a watch.
She did not touch anything.
She simply looked.
Vincent watched her from behind the counter.
He had seen people like her before.
People who entered expensive stores just to look.
People who wanted to experience luxury without being able to afford it.
He didn't mind them when they were respectful.
But that morning, he was already in a bad mood.
An important client was supposed to arrive in twenty minutes.
A shipment had been delayed.
His accountant had discovered a problem with a recent transaction.
And his son had called earlier that morning asking for money.
Vincent had spent thirty years building his company.
He was tired of people asking him for things.
So when the woman finally approached the counter, his patience was already thin.
"Excuse me," she said.
Vincent looked up.
"Yes?"
"I'm looking for something."
"What kind of something?"
"A watch."
Vincent glanced at her clothes.
"A watch?"
"Yes."
"Men's or women's?"
"Men's."
"For someone specific?"
"My father."
Vincent nodded.
"What is your budget?"
The woman hesitated.
"That's difficult."
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what it's worth."
He gave a short laugh.