Chapter 8

J. Mercer took the phone with the careful grip of a man holding something fragile. He looked at Cora once, a quick, questioning glance, and she nodded. He put the phone to his ear and said, "This is Jason Mercer, floor supervisor designate at the Meridian showroom. I was present for the full incident. I'd like to give you a statement."

Cora watched him. She stood a few feet away, her arms at her sides, her bag hanging open where the fob had come out. The black key sat on the desk between them, a small, heavy object that had, in the space of an afternoon, become something more than a key. It was evidence now. It was the thing that had been in her bag, and it was the thing that Arman had not known about when he walked out the door.

J. Mercer spoke calmly. He described the incident in order: the coins, the laughter, the salesman's refusal to intervene, the order to leave, the hand on her arm, the coat comment. He described it without embellishment, without commentary, the way a man who values precision might describe a piece of machinery. He gave the timeline, the names, the positions of everyone in the room. He did not once say "I believe" or "I remember." He said "This happened" and "Then this happened," and Cora watched the faces of the two employees at the far desk, who had moved closer and were now listening with the frozen attention of people hearing their own story told back to them.

When J. Mercer finished, he said, "I would like to add something." There was a pause. "Arman Vo is telling you a story in which he was the victim. I want you to know that I watched Mr. Vo close his hand around Ms. Weiss's arm and attempt to physically remove her from the showroom. I watched him do this while Ms. Weiss was standing on his sales floor, wearing clothes he had decided did not belong there. That is not a story about retaliation. That is a story about something else."

He paused again, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "Ms. Weiss was kind to me. She didn't know who I was, and she was kind to me anyway. She saw me — I don't know, she saw something in me. And I'm not going to let her be turned into the villain of a story that I watched happen. Not when I was standing right there."

There was a long silence. Cora could hear, faintly, the voice of Felicia Tran on the other end of the line speaking quickly, professionally. She could not make out the words, but she could hear the shape of them, the rhythm of someone taking notes and asking follow-up questions.

J. Mercer listened for a long moment. Then he said, "Yes. Yes, that's correct. I'll send you a written statement this evening. And I'll include the contact information for the other witnesses." A pause. "Yes. Thank you."