Victoria froze, her head snapping toward the attorney. "What did you say?"
Thorne turned the bound document on the stanchion around, sliding it across the counter until the red corporate seal was visible beneath the overhead emergency lamps.
"The retail suite you occupy does not lease directly from the arcade holding trust," Thorne said, tapping a dry finger against the signature block. "The retail floor was subleased to Vance Jewelers by Mercer Logistics and Landholding in November of 1988 under a thirty-year master agreement with rolling ten-year renewal covenants. Arthur Mercer is not an employee of the freight company. He is the registered sole proprietor of the ground lease, the holding company, and the transit line that carries your insurance bond. When you barred him from the vestibule, you were attempting to exclude the landlord from his own property during the commission of an unbonded transfer."
Victoria looked from Thorne to Arthur Vance, whose mouth opened and closed without producing a sound. Arthur Vance had known. For twelve years he had managed the arcade’s physical plant with Mercer’s family name at the top of every lease renewal and maintenance budget, quietly hoping the younger Mercer would leave the front-office operations to the managers while he worked the freight docks and cutting rooms he preferred.
"You sat in the alley," Victoria whispered, her eyes wide, staring at my frayed canvas cuffs and the gray stone dust embedded in the seams of my work trousers. "You carried the parcel through the rain like a hired courier."
"Because when a stone is on the road, nobody looks at a driver," I said, meeting her gaze until she dropped her eyes to the floor. "And when people think nobody is looking, they write down exactly what they think they can get away with."
Henderson looked up from her terminal, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. "The transaction record is verified and backed up to the audit storage card. The intake slip was intentionally split to prevent the registration of the carrier’s signature, and the inventory routing violates section four of the Commercial Gemstone Custody Act. Mr. Thorne, this suite is closed under administrative seal."
Victoria took a half-step toward the vault door, her hands clutched against her chest as if she might still reach the velvet tray, but Officer Harris moved between her and the threshold, his heavy wool sleeve brushing against her shoulder.
"Keep your hands at your sides, Ms. Vance," Harris said, his voice completely devoid of the deference he had shown her ten minutes earlier. "We're going to step into the arcade office while the district auditor packages the evidence. Move forward, please."
Victoria did not look back at Marcus, nor did she look at her uncle, who remained frozen against the cherrywood counter, his hand still gripping the useless override key. As she crossed the brass door saddle onto the public runner, two city patrol officers who had been summoned by central dispatch stepped out from behind the bronze fountain, their radios crackling in the cold air of the concourse.
I turned back to Marcus, who had begun slowly picking up his brass calipers and the green rouge sticks, carefully arranging his bench tools in their felt-lined slots. The boy’s shoulders were tense, his breathing slow and heavy.
"Marcus," I said.
The apprentice looked up, his jaw set, ready for whatever consequence usually followed a ruined retail shop. "I know my papers are voided, Mr. Mercer. Once a store gets sealed by the district board, the apprenticeships get frozen until the litigation clears. My father told me how it works when a lease defaults."
"Your father drove eighteen-wheelers through the Allegheny passes for twenty-five years without losing a single parcel," I told him, picking up the torn yellow carrier slip that had fallen behind the kickplate. "He never backed down from a dishonest dock master, and he didn't raise a son who signs for things that aren't true."