"An employee was dismissed for helping a customer. I want to understand the circumstances, and I want the company's leadership to explain its management practices."
Daniel immediately understood that this was not an ordinary request.
"Of course. I'll arrange it."
"Thank you."
Eleanor ended the call.
Claire stared at her.
"Mrs. Eleanor, who was that?"
"A colleague."
Claire nodded, not wanting to pry.
But she had no idea that Eleanor's colleague was the executive director of the company that owned Maison Élise.
And she had no idea that the elderly woman sitting across from her was about to become the most important person in the boutique's history.
The following morning, Claire woke before the alarm.
For several seconds, she lay still, staring at the pale ceiling of the small apartment she shared with her mother. The previous day returned in fragments: the blue dress, Eleanor's trembling hands, Victoria's cold expression, and the sound of the words that had ended Claire's employment.
You're fired.
She had heard those words countless times in her imagination during the sleepless night. Each time, they seemed to grow heavier.
On the bedside table sat her phone, a glass of water, and a small envelope containing the latest medical bill for her mother. Claire picked up the envelope and opened it again, although she already knew every number printed inside. The amount due was larger than what remained in her savings account.
Her mother, Margaret, was asleep in the next room. Claire could hear the gentle, uneven rhythm of her breathing through the thin wall.
She quietly got dressed and prepared breakfast. When Margaret finally appeared in the kitchen, wearing a faded cardigan and holding the edge of the counter for support, Claire forced a smile.
"You're up early," Margaret said.
"I have a few things to take care of."
"Work?"
Claire paused.
Margaret studied her face. Mothers often recognize the truth before their children find the courage to speak it.
"Claire, what happened?"
Claire lowered her eyes. "I lost my job yesterday."
Margaret slowly pulled out a chair.
"What? Why?"
"I helped a customer try on a dress. The manager didn't like it."
"Didn't like what? That you helped someone?"
Claire nodded.
For a moment, Margaret said nothing. Then she reached across the table and took her daughter's hand.
"Did you do something wrong?"
"No."
"Did you steal anything? Hurt anyone? Lie to a customer?"
"No, Mom."
"Then don't let someone else's bad judgment convince you that you did."
Claire tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears.
"I needed that job. The insurance covered your appointments. I don't know how we're going to manage now."
Margaret squeezed her hand. "We'll manage the way we always have. One day at a time."
"You shouldn't have to worry about this."
"And you shouldn't have to carry everything alone."
Claire looked at her mother, remembering how many sacrifices Margaret had made since her father died. Margaret had worked double shifts, skipped meals, and worn the same winter coat for years so that Claire could finish school. Now, with her heart condition worsening, even climbing the apartment stairs sometimes left her breathless.
Claire had promised herself that she would never allow her mother to feel helpless. Losing her job felt like breaking that promise.
Her phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
She almost ignored it, assuming it was another sales call. But something made her answer.
"Hello?"
"Good morning. Is this Claire Bennett?"
"Yes."
"My name is Daniel Reed. I'm calling on behalf of Mrs. Eleanor Whitmore. We met briefly yesterday, although I don't believe we were introduced."
Claire straightened.
"Is Mrs. Whitmore all right?"
"She's perfectly safe. In fact, she's been asking about you. She would like to see you again, if you're available this morning."
Claire glanced at the clock.
"Is something wrong?"
"Not with Mrs. Whitmore. She simply wants to speak with you about what happened at Maison Élise."
Claire's stomach tightened.
"I don't want to cause her any trouble."
"You're not causing trouble, Miss Bennett. Mrs. Whitmore has asked me to arrange a meeting, and she would appreciate your presence."
Claire hesitated. "I don't know if I should get involved. I was fired, and I don't want to make the situation worse for anyone."
There was a brief silence.
"Mrs. Whitmore anticipated that you might say something like that," Daniel replied. "She asked me to tell you that accepting a cup of tea is not the same as starting a fight."
Despite herself, Claire smiled.
"All right. Where should I meet her?"
Daniel gave her the address of a quiet private club near the business district. Claire had never been inside such a place. Its name alone sounded as though it belonged to a world where people did not check their bank accounts before ordering lunch.
When she arrived, a doorman greeted her politely and directed her to a private sitting room.
Eleanor was seated beside a tall window, wearing a simple navy coat. Her silver hair was neatly arranged, and the old handbag Claire remembered rested beside her chair. In the daylight, Eleanor seemed more fragile than she had inside the boutique, but her eyes were alert and remarkably steady.
"Claire!" she exclaimed, rising to greet her. "I'm glad you came."
"Good morning, Mrs. Whitmore."
"Please, call me Eleanor. And sit down. I've ordered tea."
Claire took the chair opposite her.
"I hope you're feeling better after yesterday."
Eleanor gave a small, rueful laugh. "I should be asking you that. You were the one who lost her job."