The sound of the zipper popping echoed through the silent boutique. Marcus stopped laughing instantly.
Spilling out of Arthur’s battered canvas bag wasn’t trash or food stamps. It was stack after stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills. Enough to buy the entire inventory three times over.
The security guard, who had been rushing over to eject Arthur, stopped dead in his tracks.
Arthur calmly knelt, restacking the money with rough, working-class hands. He stood up, the atmosphere in the room having shifted from disgust to awe.
“I promised my wife the ‘Blue Heart’ necklace,” Arthur said, his voice hardening. “I’ve been saving every penny from my construction company for forty years. I came to pay cash.”
Marcus began to stammer, sweating profusely. “S-Sir, I… I didn’t know. Please, let me get you some champagne.”
Arthur shook his head and turned to the young, terrified intern standing behind the counter. “No. I’m not buying from him.” He pointed at the intern. “I’m buying from her. And I want the manager’s commission added to her tip.”
Marcus watched in silence as the biggest sale of the year—and his job—slipped right through his fingers.
