You refused to believe me when I told you I own this business. You arrested me in my own boutique because you couldn't imagine a black woman owning a luxury store. Peter looked at Patterson with fury building in his expression. Officer, is that true? Did you really say those things to her?
Patterson tried to backtrack quickly. I was responding to a call about suspicious activity. Someone reported. Suspicious activity? Bennett interrupted, her voice sharp and controlled.
I was browsing dresses. That's it. I was shopping in my own store, selecting items to try on, doing exactly what customers are supposed to do. Someone saw a black woman in an expensive boutique and decided I must be a criminal. Peter turned to look at the other customers in the store. his manager instincts taking over even in the middle of this crisis.
Who called the police on Miss Bennett? Several customers looked around uncertainly. Then a woman near the register pointed toward Patricia Patterson who was trying to blend into a display of scarves. That woman was on her phone earlier. I saw her watching Miss Bennett and then making a call.
Peter walked directly toward Patricia with his phone still in his hand showing the search results proving Bennett's identity. Ma'am, did you call the police on our owner? Patricia's face turned bright red and she stammered trying to find words. I I thought she looked suspicious. She was just walking around for so long.
I was concerned for safety. That's why I called my husband. The boutique went completely silent. Every person in the store heard those last three words clearly. My husband.
Peter's head snapped toward Officer Patterson and then back to Patricia. The connection became instantly obvious to everyone. You called your husband? Peter said slowly, his voice heavy with disgust and disbelief. Bennett looked at Patricia and then at Officer Patterson, and everything clicked into place.