“The chairman.”
The Boutique Manager stared.
Then laughed once.
Quiet.
Disbelieving.
“Of course.”
The Billionaire Woman’s expression did not change.
The manager continued.
“Our chairman does not personally arrange retail appointments.”
“He arranged mine.”
“No.”
“You seem very comfortable saying that word.”
The manager folded her arms.
“I know our operations.”
“Apparently.”
The Boutique Manager looked toward the nearest associate.
“Check the schedule.”
The young woman stepped toward a tablet.
The manager stopped her.
“Actually, no.”
The associate froze.
The manager looked back at the Billionaire Woman.
“What name?”
The Billionaire Woman told her.
The manager stared.
No recognition.
That did not surprise her.
Her public name appeared on business magazines.
Her holding companies did not.
Many private luxury transactions moved through corporate entities and family offices.
She preferred privacy.
The manager repeated the name slowly.
Then looked toward the tablet.
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t check.”
“I know our VIP list.”
The Billionaire Woman looked at the young associate.
“Do you?”
The associate hesitated.
The manager answered for her.
“She does not need to.”
Interesting.
The Billionaire Woman placed both hands lightly on the glass counter.
Diamond bracelets caught the light.
The Boutique Manager glanced at them.
She did not recognize those either.
That surprised the Billionaire Woman slightly.
One bracelet had been produced by the boutique’s own parent jewelry house twelve years earlier.
Only six existed.
Maybe the manager had never seen one outside archival photographs.
Or maybe she had stopped seeing evidence once she made the first decision.
That happened often.
People did not merely misjudge.
They defended the misjudgment.
The manager moved toward the central case.
She inserted a key.
For one second, the Billionaire Woman thought she might actually open it.
Instead, the Boutique Manager locked the secondary mechanism.
A sharp click.
Then another.
The glass display was now fully secured.
“You will not be handling anything from this collection.”
The woman looked at the lock.
Then at the manager.
“That seemed unnecessary.”
“It’s procedure.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
The Billionaire Woman looked toward the young associate.
The employee said nothing.
The manager’s eyes hardened.
“Please stop involving my staff.”
“Your staff appear uncomfortable.”
“They are working.”
“Are they?”
The elderly woman at the velvet table coughed.
Not delicately.
The Boutique Manager ignored it.
The Billionaire Woman turned back toward the necklace.
“I came to evaluate the center stone.”
“You won’t.”
“I came to compare it with an archival piece.”
The manager’s face shifted.
“Which archival piece?”
The Billionaire Woman smiled faintly.
That interested her.
“The Maison Laurent 1931 collar.”