Laura pointed at Malik. “Look at him. He’s nervous. That card is not his. Call the police before he runs.”
Malik froze, heart pounding in his throat. He glanced down at the receipt printing out, the name on the card still warm in his mind—Monica Reed. His mother. Outside, through the glass, he could see her pacing near the fountain, phone pressed to her ear, deep in a work conversation exactly as she had said she would be.
“I’m not stealing anything,” Malik said, voice steady despite the heat rising in his chest. “This is my mother’s card. She gave it to me for my birthday. She’s right outside.”
Laura laughed, short and sharp. “Of course she is. That’s what they always say.”
Denise held up a hand. “Ma’am, I need you to step back. The card is valid. The name matches the authorization notes we already have on file for this customer.”
Laura’s face tightened. “You’re covering for him. I know what I saw. Call the police right now or I will.”
Denise’s expression did not change. She reached under the counter, pressed a quiet button, and spoke into a small headset. “Security, we have a customer dispute at register one. Please remain calm.”
Two uniformed officers crossed the threshold less than three minutes later. Their eyes swept the showroom, then fixed on Malik.
One was tall with a nameplate reading Davis. The other, a woman with her hair pulled back. Bennett.
“Sir,” Officer Davis said evenly. “Can you step aside for a moment?”
Malik’s throat went dry. “Me?”
Officer Bennett clicked open a notebook. “We received a call about a possible stolen credit card. You’re okay to answer a few questions?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Name?”
“Malik Johnson.”
Davis nodded. “What brings you here today?”
Malik lifted the velvet box the cashier had already prepared. “It’s my birthday. My mom gave me her card so I could buy this watch. She’s outside on a work call.”
Bennett glanced at Denise. The cashier nodded once, calm and certain. “The transaction cleared without issue. The cardholder is Monica Reed. We have a standing note from her authorizing purchases for her son under this amount. I verified it before running the card.”
Laura stepped forward, voice rising. “That can’t be right. Look at him. He’s clearly—”
Denise cut her off, still polite but firm. “Ma’am, the card is legitimate. The authorization is legitimate. The young man has done nothing wrong.”
Outside, the glass door opened again. A tall woman in a dark tailored suit stepped inside like the room parted for her. A badge clipped to her belt bore the seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.