“I didn't mean—”
Marcus turned toward Richard.
“I’m done here.”
Richard stepped forward.
“Marcus.”
“No.”
“We can move upstairs.”
“No.”
“Private room.”
“No.”
“Let me fix this.”
Marcus looked around at the diamonds.
Then back.
“You can't fix the appointment today.”
Richard's face fell.
Marcus continued.
“You can investigate why your own manager preferred a police response over opening a schedule.”
Then he walked toward the exit.
Richard followed.
“Marcus.”
Marcus stopped.
Not turned.
Richard said:
“Please.”
Marcus looked over his shoulder.
“I came here to decide whether eighteen million dollars of jewelry was worth buying.”
“Yes.”
“Now I need to decide whether your company is worth doing business with.”
Then he left.
The video reached the internet before Marcus reached his car.
Three angles.
One showed the officers forcing him down.
Another showed Adrian pointing.
The third captured Richard arriving.
Someone had filmed the appointment screen too.
Not clearly enough to reveal confidential financial terms.
Clearly enough to show Marcus’s name.
By noon, headlines appeared.
BLACK BUYER FORCED TO FLOOR AT MANHATTAN JEWELER
PRIVATE CLIENT MISTAKEN FOR TRESPASSER
POLICE DETAIN MAN DURING $18M JEWELRY APPOINTMENT
Marcus hated all of them.
He turned his phone off.
Or tried.
The cracked screen barely responded.
His assistant, Naomi Brooks, called through the vehicle’s audio system.
“Marcus.”
“Yes.”
“I saw it.”
“I know.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Knee.”
“Hospital.”
“No.”
“That was not a question.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“Urgent care.”
“Good.”
“Lawyer?”
“Already calling.”
“Do not release anything.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Do not identify the officers publicly.”
“Obviously.”
“Do not identify employees beyond what is already public.”
“Marcus.”
“What?”
“You hired me twelve years ago.”
“I know how not to start an internet mob.”
“Right.”
Pause.
“Are you okay?”
Marcus looked out the window.
Manhattan traffic crawled.
Pedestrians passed.
Normal.
“No.”
Naomi said:
“Okay.”
No inspirational nonsense.
No reassurance.
Just okay.
That helped.
At urgent care, X-rays showed no fracture.
Deep bruise.
Mild sprain.
Rest.
Ice.
Anti-inflammatory medication.
The physician looked at his wrist.
“Cuff?”
“Yes.”
She said nothing.
Documented everything.
Marcus appreciated that too.
Facts.
By two, his attorney, Elena Park, arrived at his office.
She entered without knocking.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Phone.”
He handed her the cracked device.