It wasn't actually for sale; it was an exhibition piece, meant to show the world the absolute pinnacle of our craftsmanship.
I shuffled slowly toward the display case, clutching my worn leather folder to my chest.
Chloe watched me approach, her eyes dragging up and down my shabby clothes with open disgust.
She didn't offer a greeting.
She didn't smile.
She simply stepped in front of the glass, physically blocking my view of the diamond.
"The public restrooms are down the street at the coffee shop, sir," she said.
Her voice was flat, cold, and stripped of any professional courtesy.
I looked up at her, keeping my expression entirely neutral.
"I don't need a restroom," I said quietly. "I’d like to see that diamond."
Chloe let out a sharp, condescending breath.
"This is an exclusive exhibition piece," she said, her tone dripping with impatience. "It is not for public viewing, and it certainly isn't something you need to concern yourself with. I need you to step away from the glass."
I didn't move.
Instead, I placed my worn leather folder gently onto the pristine glass counter.
"I am a serious customer," I said, keeping my voice steady. "I came to inquire about purchasing it."
Chloe’s eyes flashed with genuine anger.
She slammed her hand flat onto the counter, right next to my folder.
"You're wasting my time," she snapped, her voice rising enough to draw the attention of a nearby customer. "You cannot afford anything in this building. Take your trash off my counter and leave before I have security throw you out."
She aggressively shoved my leather folder back toward me.
The sudden, violent movement caught me off guard, and the folder slid toward the edge of the glass.
I caught it just before it fell, my own temper finally beginning to spark.
"Please don't touch my things again," I warned her, my voice dropping an octave.
"Then get out!" she hissed, her face pale and tense.
As she leaned forward to intimidate me, she stepped slightly to the side, leaving a clear view of the Aurelia diamond under the brilliant halogen spotlights.
I ignored her threats and locked my eyes on the stone.
Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.
My heart began to pound against my ribs, a cold dread pooling in my stomach.
I had spent six months cutting that specific diamond.
I knew every facet, every angle, every microscopic interaction it had with light.
The stone sitting in that velvet box was flashing a harsh, metallic rainbow of colors.
Diamonds reflect light in a very specific, balanced way, splitting it into a mixture of white flashes and subtle spectral fire.
The stone in the case was throwing off an aggressive, blinding disco-ball effect.
The table percentage was too wide.
The dispersion of light was artificially high.
It wasn't a diamond.
It was a brilliant, masterfully cut piece of cubic zirconia, or perhaps a high-grade synthetic moissanite.
My breathing hitched as I stared at it.
The centerpiece of my legacy, the stone named after my dead wife, was a worthless piece of glass.
"You," I whispered, pointing a trembling finger at the stone. "That isn't the Aurelia."
Chloe froze.
The anger in her eyes vanished, instantly replaced by absolute, paralyzing terror.
She looked at the stone, then back at me, her chest heaving as a bead of sweat broke out on her forehead.
She frantically reached beneath the counter.
"Marcus!" she yelled, her voice cracking with sheer panic. "We have a security breach! Get him out of here right now!"
I looked over my shoulder.
Marcus, the massive security guard, was already sprinting across the marble floor toward me, pulling a set of heavy zip-tie restraints from his belt.
But he wasn't looking at me like a nuisance.
He was looking at me like a threat that needed to be silenced immediately.
Marcus hit me like a freight train.
His massive hand clamped onto my frail shoulder, his fingers digging brutally into my collarbone.
"Time to go, old man," he growled, twisting my arm behind my back with entirely unnecessary force.
Pain shot down my spine, but I bit my lip, refusing to cry out.
I knew if I broke my cover now, if I shouted my name and demanded they let me go, the entire conspiracy would instantly retreat into the shadows.
I had to play the part of a helpless, confused vagrant.
"I'm leaving! I'm leaving!" I rasped, allowing my knees to buckle slightly to make myself heavy.
"Let him go, Marcus," a smooth, authoritative voice cut through the tension.
I turned my head, wincing as the guard’s grip loosened just enough for me to breathe.
Julian, the senior floor manager, stepped out of the frosted-glass office near the back corridor.