My reflexes were old, but they were deeply ingrained.
I jerked my hands backward, pulling the open titanium casing tightly against my chest just as the heavy brass globe smashed into the edge of the mahogany desk.
The impact sounded like a gunshot.
Wood splintered violently, raining chips across the carpet.
Julian stumbled forward, thrown off balance by the momentum of his missed strike.
He let out a guttural, desperate noise and raised the heavy brass weight to swing again.
Before he could bring it down, Tyler moved.
The young salesman, who had spent the entire afternoon terrified of losing his job, suddenly threw his weight forward.
He grabbed Julian’s arm with both hands, twisting the older man’s wrist backward.
"Stop it, Mr. Vance!" Tyler shouted, his voice cracking with adrenaline. "Stop it!"
Julian thrashed wildly, trying to throw Tyler off, but the young man held on tightly.
The heavy brass paperweight slipped from Julian’s fingers and hit the carpet with a dull thud.
Julian shoved Tyler hard, sending the younger man crashing into the leather sofa, but the distraction was enough.
I stepped backward, putting distance between myself and the desk, securing the watch safely in my jacket pocket.
Julian stood panting, his hair disheveled, his expensive silk tie askew.
He looked at Tyler with absolute hatred.
"You're finished," Julian spat, pointing a trembling finger at the young salesman. "You are completely finished in this industry."
"No," Tyler said, breathing heavily as he pushed himself up from the sofa. "You are."
Tyler reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
The screen was lit up, showing an active call.
"I didn't call the Swiss buyers when I was in the corner," Tyler said quietly. "I called the police. They've been listening for the last five minutes."
Julian froze.
The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the relentless ringing of the unanswered video call on Julian’s computer monitor.
A heavy, rapid pounding echoed from the showroom outside.
"Chicago Police! Open the door!" a muffled voice shouted through the heavy wood.
Julian looked at the locked deadbolt, then at me.
All the fight instantly drained out of him.
His shoulders slumped, and he looked incredibly small, a hollow man wearing a very expensive suit.
Tyler walked over to the heavy mahogany door, turned the brass deadbolt, and pulled it open.
Three uniformed police officers pushed past Marcus, the security guard in the showroom, and rushed into the office.
"Nobody move," the lead officer commanded, his hand resting on his duty belt.
Julian immediately raised his hands, trying to salvage some shred of his dignity.
"Officers," Julian said, his voice trembling slightly but attempting a tone of authority. "Thank God you're here. This man forced his way into my office. He tried to steal a very expensive timepiece and assaulted me when I tried to stop him."
He pointed a finger directly at me.
The lead officer looked at my worn canvas jacket, my greasy jeans, and my battered boots.
It was the same look Tyler had given me when I first walked in.
The look that assumed I was the problem.
The officer stepped toward me. "Sir, I need you to keep your hands where I can see them."
I didn't panic.
I didn't raise my voice.
I slowly reached into my jacket pocket and carefully pulled out the open Vanguard Celestial.
"I am not a thief," I said calmly. "My name is Arthur Pendelton. I came here today to purchase this watch. I brought a certified cashier's check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which is currently sitting on that desk."
The officer glanced at the desk, noting the bank document resting near the shattered wood.
"Mr. Vance is lying," Tyler spoke up, stepping forward. "He locked the door. He tried to force Mr. Pendelton to sign a non-disclosure agreement. And then he tried to destroy the watch with that paperweight on the floor."
Julian shot Tyler a look of pure venom. "He's a disgruntled employee. He's lying."
"I have proof," I told the officer.
I held out the watch.
"Look at the inside of the back plate," I said. "There is a jeweler's loupe on the desk. Read the engraving."
The officer hesitated, then picked up the small magnifying loupe from Julian's desk.
He took the watch from my hands, holding it carefully under the bright desk lamp.
He leaned in, squinting through the glass.
I watched the officer's eyes track back and forth as he read the microscopic text.
Property of David Pendelton. US Patent Pending. Stolen by Julian Vance on February 12th.
The officer lowered the loupe.
He looked at Julian Vance, who was now sweating profusely, staring at the floor.
"Mr. Vance," the officer said, his tone entirely different now. "We're going to need you to step outside with us. We have some questions about corporate theft and attempted assault."