He swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Name?” Davis prompted.
“Malik. Malik Johnson.”
Davis nodded and crouched slightly. “What brings you here today?”
He lifted the pouch. “I’m buying this for my dad’s birthday. I left a deposit.”
Bennett glanced at the associate, who nodded. No complaints. No hint of wrongdoing. But outside, Laura Whitmore lingered by the fountain, phone pressed to her ear, describing every detail. The hoodie. The way he looked at the watches. The fact that a teenager in a black sweatshirt was handling an expensive piece.
Officer Davis flipped through his report. “You came alone.”
“He doesn’t know,” Malik said softly.
“Who?”
“My dad.” The words came with unintended bitterness. He closed his eyes, tasting shame.
Bennett asked for ID. Malik handed over his student card, blue with the campus seal and a photo he barely recognized. She jotted details.
“The assistant manager says you’ve done nothing wrong,” the associate called, voice low. “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced.”
Malik managed to nod. He’d expected awkwardness, but not public spectacle. Not his father’s son reduced to profile and suspicion.
The officers conferred in low tones. Then Bennett handed back his card. “All right, you’re free to go. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
He exhaled, straightened his shoulders. Still something in his gut knotted tight. He turned to leave, but then a presence filled the doorway.
Malik’s breath caught. A tall man in a dark suit tailored to quiet authority stepped inside like the room parted for him. A badge clipped to his belt bore the seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“Malik,” he said, voice low but firm.
Malik froze.
“Are you all right?”
He blinked, disbelief pinching his chest. “Dad.”
Special Agent David Johnson smiled once, sharp and loving all at once. Even the officers stepped back, hats in hand. Laura Whitmore took a half step backward, phone slipping in her grasp. Dad’s calm radiated power.
“What happened?” he asked Davis.
Davis opened his mouth, then closed it.