The air inside the flagship store of Cloud Cosmetics was thick enough to choke on, saturated with the cloying scent of expensive perfume and the acrid, metallic tang of panic. The high-end lighting, usually designed to make jewelry and skin glow, now seemed to cast harsh, interrogation-room shadows on the faces of the staff.
"Ms. Bailey, please, surely we can discuss this rationally..." Joan Foster’s voice trembled, her face draining of color until it matched the pristine white marble tiles of the showroom floor. Her usual sharp, imperious demeanor—the one she wielded like a weapon against her family—had dissolved, replaced by the desperate pleading of a woman watching her social standing teeter on the edge of a cliff.
"There is no room for discussion." The woman standing opposite her wa
