He let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Are you serious right now? Do you have any idea where you are, old man?"
"I know exactly where I am," I replied, refusing to break eye contact. "And I asked to see the watch."
Tyler leaned over the counter, dropping any pretense of customer service.
"Listen to me very carefully," he sneered. "That piece is a quarter of a million dollars. It is a limited edition, reserved for our most exclusive clients."
"I'm a client," I said. "And I'm asking you to take it out of the case."
"You're a vagrant who wandered in here to get out of the cold," Tyler snapped, his voice rising in anger. "You couldn't afford the leather strap on that watch if you worked for another twenty years."
The well-dressed couple near the window stopped talking and turned to watch the commotion.
I didn't care about them.
I leaned closer to the glass, studying the tiny, microscopic second hand of the Celestial.
I watched it sweep across the dial.
Every sixty seconds, at the exact top of the minute, the tiny hand made a microscopic, barely perceptible stutter.
It wasn't a flaw.
It was David's signature, a mechanical heartbeat he had designed to prove the mainspring was drawing power from a secondary barrel.
Only a master watchmaker—or his father—would ever notice it.
The sight of it confirmed everything I had feared.
This wasn't just a copy of David's design.
This was the actual prototype David had built with his own hands before Vanguard & Company stole it from him.
"I'm not going to ask you again," Tyler said, his face flushing with anger. "Get out of my store right now, or I am calling security and having you thrown onto the pavement."
He reached beneath the counter, his hand hovering over what I assumed was a panic button.
"You don't need to do that, Tyler," I said, reading his name tag again.
I unzipped the front of my faded Carhartt jacket.
Tyler tensed, taking a half-step back, perhaps thinking I was reaching for a weapon.
Instead, I pulled out the heavy leather folder.
I opened it slowly, taking out the crisp, heavy piece of paper inside.
Without breaking eye contact, I placed the certified cashier's check flat on the brightly lit glass counter.
Tyler looked down at it.
His eyes scanned the embossed seal of Chase Bank.
He read my name, Arthur Pendelton, printed clearly on the payee line.
And then he saw the amount.
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
Tyler's mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
The arrogant, mocking smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of absolute, paralyzing shock.
He looked from the check, up to my weathered face, and back to the check again.
"It's made out to Vanguard and Company," I said quietly. "Now, open the case and hand me the watch."
Tyler was trembling.
His hands gripped the edge of the glass counter as if he needed it to stay upright.
"I... I don't..." he stammered, completely out of his depth. "I need to... I need to verify..."
Before Tyler could finish his sentence, the heavy mahogany door behind the counter swung open with a violent crack.
A tall man in a tailored charcoal suit stepped out of the back office.
He had silver hair, a sharp jawline, and the cold, assessing eyes of a corporate shark.
I knew his face from the countless business magazines David used to leave around the house.
Julian Vance.
The owner of Vanguard & Company.
"Tyler, what is going on out here?" Julian demanded, his voice echoing in the quiet showroom. "I can hear you shouting from my desk."
"Mr. Vance, I... this man..." Tyler pointed a shaking finger at me. "He wants to buy the Celestial."
Julian looked annoyed.
He turned his gaze toward me, taking in my dirty boots and work jacket with profound disgust.
"Tyler, just call security and get him out of—"
Julian's voice died in his throat.
His eyes locked onto my face.
For a fraction of a second, I saw his pupils dilate in pure, unfiltered terror.
He recognized me.
He had never met me in person, but he had seen photographs on David's phone, or perhaps he simply saw my son's eyes staring back at him from my weathered face.
Julian's gaze dropped to the glass counter.
He saw the certified cashier's check sitting under the bright lights.