The Price of a Second

For three seconds, the boutique fell dead silent. Carter snorted, throwing his head back in theatrical laughter. "Who are you calling? The imaginary police? Bro really dialed his own voicemail to look tough!"

His entourage erupted into another round of manufactured laughter. Carter turned his phone back around to catch their reactions. "Comment 'L-bozo' in the chat, guys. Let’s make this bum famous."

Before the laughter could peak, a sharp buzz cut through the air. The heavy glass security doors at the entrance clicked shut with a solid, pressurized seal. The recessed LED chandeliers dimmed slightly as the store’s private executive lighting switched on, casting deep, dramatic shadows over the velvet displays.

From the private mezzanine elevator at the back of the boutique, footsteps echoed on the white Italian marble. Sharp, measured, and uncompromising.

A tall man in a bespoke three-piece charcoal suit stepped forward. He wore white cotton handling gloves and carried a leather-bound folio stamped with the gilded seal of the Vance Horology Group.

Carter blinked, lowering his phone by an inch. "Hey, manager. Perfect timing. Tell this trespassing loser to get out before my dad calls corporate."

The man in the suit didn't look at Carter. He walked past the circle of phones without acknowledging them, stopping exactly two paces in front of Julian.

He bowed his head with crisp, practiced deference.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Julian Vance," the man said, his voice resonant and commanding. "Mr. Vance Senior notified us of your arrival. The entire block’s inventory and staff are at your absolute discretion."