“So do I.”
The restructuring began that afternoon.
Laurent’s flagship closed to customers for six days.
Online rumors started immediately.
Some said the company had been sold.
Others claimed financial collapse.
A luxury-retail blogger posted that half the staff had been fired.
That was false.
Regina let communications correct only factual errors.
She had no interest in turning the transformation into a publicity stunt before employees understood what was actually changing.
The first two days involved interviews.
Regina learned things security cameras could not show.
Several associates admitted Meredith routinely assigned customers into informal categories.
“Collector.”
“Gift buyer.”
“Tourist.”
“Browser.”
“Risk.”
Those categories were not written anywhere.
They existed socially.
Everyone knew them.
A “collector” received champagne.
A “gift buyer” received a salesperson.
A “tourist” was greeted politely but lightly.
A “browser” could wait.
A “risk” attracted security.
Regina asked how employees determined categories.
Nobody gave an answer that survived scrutiny.
Clothing.
Accent.
Age.
Jewelry already worn.
Shopping bags.
Car visible outside.
Race was never officially listed.
It did not need to be.
Some employees admitted customers of color were placed into “browser” or “risk” categories more often.
Others insisted they had never noticed.
Regina believed some of them.
That did not make the outcome harmless.
Unconscious behavior could still become company behavior when nobody measured it.
So Regina measured it.
Laurent installed a customer-assistance tracking system.
Not surveillance of buyers.
Accountability for staff.
How long did people wait before greeting?
Who received consultation offers?
Who was redirected toward cheaper merchandise without asking?
Who was followed by security?
Patterns would be reviewed.
Some employees complained that everything was becoming too sensitive.
Regina answered during training.
“If equal service feels restrictive, the old freedom you miss may have been the freedom to treat people unequally.”
No one had much to say after that.
The physical store changed too.
The velvet ropes separating the VIP salon from the main floor disappeared.
Private rooms remained for customers who wanted discretion, but access was based on appointment preference rather than perceived status. Glass cases stayed because jewelry still required security, yet sales associates were trained to invite customers into the story of each piece rather than guard the inventory like a private club.
Regina hired a new floor manager named Miguel Santos.
Miguel was thirty-six, a Marine veteran who had spent five years managing luxury watches at a department store before it closed. His suit was modest, his references excellent, and his first interview answer made Regina notice him immediately.
“What is luxury service?” she asked.
Miguel thought.
“Making someone feel cared for without making somebody else feel small.”
Regina nodded.
“Explain.”
“My grandmother saved almost a year to buy herself one gold bracelet.”
He smiled.
“It was not expensive by luxury standards.”
“To her it was.”
“The salesperson treated her like the purchase mattered.”
“I never forgot that.”
Regina looked toward Elena.
Elena smiled.
Miguel got the job.
A designer named Kavita Rao joined next.
Her portfolio combined contemporary forms with patterns inspired by Indian family jewelry. She had spent three years freelancing because major houses repeatedly told her work was “too specific” for mainstream luxury.
Regina hated that phrase.