"I expected standards."
Camille raised one hand.
"Enough."
Everyone stopped.
She turned toward Evelyn.
"How long have you been shopping here?"
"Eleven years."
"Do you believe that gives you authority over employees?"
"No."
"Then why did they behave as though it did?"
Evelyn had no answer.
Camille continued.
"You weren't security."
"No."
"You weren't management."
"No."
"You weren't an employee."
"No."
"But you gave instructions."
Evelyn looked away.
Camille wasn't finished.
"Would you have behaved differently if the customer had been someone you recognized?"
Evelyn hesitated.
"I don't know."
Camille nodded.
"That's honest."
Then she asked:
"What made you suspicious?"
Evelyn answered quickly.
"Her behavior."
"What behavior?"
"She was watching cameras."
"Anything else?"
"She wasn't accompanied."
"Anything else?"
"She didn't look like a normal customer."
The room went silent.
Evelyn realized the words had escaped before she could stop them.
Camille did not accuse her.
She simply asked:
"What does a normal customer look like?"
Evelyn looked at her.
"I didn't mean—"
"You did."
"No."
"You said it."
Evelyn's face reddened.
Camille looked around the room.
"This is exactly why I came here."
Everyone listened.
"I wanted to know what happens when nobody recognizes the owner."
She stood.
"Now I know."
She walked toward the dresses.
The blue one.
The green one.
The black one.
She touched the black dress.
"I chose these because I wanted to test how employees handled an ordinary customer carrying several pieces."
Jonathan looked at her.
"And?"
Camille looked at him.
"Some employees did well."
She turned toward the sales associates.
"But the system failed."
Martin nodded.
"I understand."
"No," Camille said gently. "I don't think you do."
She pointed toward the front doors.
"An expensive customer called."
She pointed toward the police officer's former position.
"The police came."
Then she pointed toward herself.
"And nobody asked the simplest question."
"What question?"
Camille answered:
"Where is the evidence?"
Her name was Tasha Green.
She was twenty-four.
She had worked at Bellmont & Rowe for eight months.
During the incident, she had stood near the handbag department and watched everything.
Camille noticed her.
"You."
Tasha looked startled.
"Me?"
"Come here."
Tasha approached.
"What did you see?"
Tasha glanced at Martin.
Camille noticed.
"You don't need permission to answer."
Tasha swallowed.
"I saw Mrs. Whitmore watching you."
"How long?"
"Maybe fifteen minutes."
"Did you think I was stealing?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you were comparing fabrics."
Camille nodded.
"Did you tell anyone?"
Tasha hesitated.
"I told Mr. Hayes."
Martin looked surprised.
"You did?"
"Yes."
Camille turned toward Martin.
"What did she say?"
Martin couldn't remember.
Tasha answered.
"I said you looked like you were shopping."
Camille smiled.
"Thank you."
Tasha lowered her eyes.
"I didn't know you were the owner."
"That's the point."
Tasha looked up.
Camille continued.
"You shouldn't need to know who I am."
Tasha nodded.
Camille asked:
"Did you ever feel pressured to treat certain customers differently?"
Tasha looked around.
Nobody spoke.
Finally she answered.
"Yes."
Martin closed his eyes.
"How?"
Tasha spoke slowly.
"VIP customers get followed less."
"Less?"
"They get more privacy."
Camille nodded.
"And everyone else?"
"We're told to stay attentive."
Camille looked at Jonathan.
"That sounds like two different standards."
Jonathan nodded.
"It is."
Camille sat again.
"Write this down."
Jonathan took out his notebook.
"Effective immediately, no customer receives reduced suspicion because of wealth, clothing, social status, or purchasing history."
Evelyn looked offended.
Camille continued.
"VIP status can provide convenience. It cannot provide authority."
Jonathan wrote.
"Second," Camille said, "every employee receives training on bias, de-escalation, and evidence-based loss prevention."
Jonathan nodded.
"Third, employees must have a protected method to challenge unsupported accusations."
Tasha looked surprised.
Camille noticed.
"What?"
Tasha said:
"That would have helped today."
Camille smiled.
"Exactly."
Then Tasha asked:
"Can I say something?"
"Please."
"I think people here are afraid."
Camille's expression softened.
"Of what?"
"Of making the wrong customer angry."
Camille looked around.
That sentence explained everything.
Not just what happened that afternoon.
Everything.
The next morning, Camille arrived at headquarters before sunrise.
She asked for every complaint involving Bellmont & Rowe's Madison Avenue store during the previous two years.