Chapter 9: The Black Card

I took the keys to Vaughn’s truck, drove down the bluffs, and parked along the curb outside Waverly & Co.

I had lived in Ashwood Bay my entire life, but this shopping district was another world. It wasn't built for people who worked double shifts to stay ahead of late rent.

I grabbed a shopping cart and unfolded the list.

The first stop was the wine department for a temperature-controlled decanter. When I found the box on the back display, the price stopped me cold.

Twenty-two hundred dollars.

That single purchase cost four hundred dollars more than a full month of my mother's continuous oxygen concentrator and daily steroid inhalers combined. To Vaughn Mercer, it was just something to pour wine from on a Tuesday night.

I put the box in the cart and kept moving.

On the third floor, I tracked down the organic canine vitamins at the pet boutique. The clerk watched me like I had wandered into the wrong building, but I grabbed three tins and went straight to the sporting goods section on the fourth floor. There, an attendant had to unlock a case to hand over a vintage basketball, stepping back without making eye contact.

By the time I took the elevator back down, the cart was full. I pushed it into line at register one.

The head cashier waited behind the counter, her hair pinned back, her uniform pressed without a wrinkle. Her nameplate read Evelyn.

Her eyes dropped straight to my frayed cuffs and scuffed shoes.

She picked up each box with the tips of her fingers, scanning barcodes in flat silence. She handled the basketball like it might leave a stain.

When the register beeped for the final time, she leaned forward.

"Fourteen thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three dollars," she said, loud enough for the entire aisle to hear.

Nearby shoppers stopped to look. Evelyn stood there, waiting for me to stammer an excuse and walk away empty-handed.

I didn't move.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out the black card, and laid it on the counter.

The card hit the surface with a sharp click.

Evelyn picked it up, her expression tightening as she saw the embossed name: VAUGHN MERCER.

"I need your identification," she demanded, holding her hand out.

I set my driver’s license beside the card.

She checked my name, then looked back at his. A dry scoff broke from her throat.

"This card isn't yours," she said.

"It belongs to my employer," I replied. "He authorized me to pick up these supplies this morning."

"And who is that?"

"Vaughn Mercer."

She let out a harsh laugh.

"You honestly expect us to believe that Vaughn Mercer handed his personal Centurion card to someone dressed like this?"

She dropped the card on the counter, turned to the wall phone, and keyed the intercom.

"Security to register one. Immediate fraud detention."

The floor went dead quiet.

A guard stepped away from the entrance, his radio crackling as he crossed the floor.

"This person is attempting grand larceny with a stolen account," Evelyn announced for everyone within earshot. "Hold her until the police arrive."

Dozens of eyes pinned me to the spot. Heat flared in my chest, but under the public humiliation, my mind cleared. I grew up poor, but I had never stolen a dime in my life.

The guard reached out to grab my arm.

I stepped back, clear of his reach, and looked him dead in the eye.

"Don't touch me," I said, keeping my voice level and sharp. "I haven't stolen anything, and I haven't tried to leave. You have no legal cause to put your hands on me. If you do, my agency will file assault and unlawful restraint complaints against your company before the hour is out."

The guard stopped, his hand hanging in the air.

I turned back to Evelyn.

"Call the police," I told her. "And you can explain to your executives why you're detaining an authorized courier for one of your biggest clients."

Evelyn's jaw tightened, the color draining from her face. "How dare you—"

"Freya. What is going on here?"

The voice cut through the aisle like a whip.

The onlookers parted. Daphne stepped into the aisle, carrying herself with effortless authority.

Daphne didn't look at the crowd. She saw the loaded cart, the hesitating guard, and the black card sitting on the counter. Her expression turned to cold disgust.

She didn't waste a breath on the cashier. She pulled her phone from her bag, hit a speed dial, and put it on speaker.

It answered on the second ring.

"Daphne? I'm in a board review, what is it?" a brisk voice asked.

"Brenda, darling," Daphne said, her tone smooth and lethal across the quiet floor. "Are you in the building? Because I'm at register one with my associate, who is currently being threatened with false arrest by your staff during an authorized transaction."

Evelyn went pale.

The voice over the phone turned sharp. "Which register? I'm taking the elevator down right now."

"Miss Kensington, please," Evelyn stammered, raising her hands. "We were only following policy for third-party cards—"

"Be quiet," Daphne cut her off. "You don't say another word until your director gets down here."

Daphne kept her eyes on the trembling cashier, resting the active phone on the counter.

"We'll wait right here, Brenda," Daphne said to the speaker. "Bring security management with you."