My heart plummeted into my stomach. My first thought was that the shop owner had found out about the “stolen” flowers. Maybe they’d checked the security footage and saw me letting a kid walk out with unpaid merchandise.
Or maybe I was in some kind of legal trouble I didn’t even know about. I wiped my hands on my apron, feeling my palms grow cold and sweaty. “Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked, my voice coming out an octave higher than usual.
“I… yes, that was me,” I stammered. I was already rehearsing my apology, ready to offer to pay double for the flowers if it meant staying out of jail. “Look, if this is about the girl and the roses, I can explain. I paid for them myself, I swear. I have the receipt in my locker.”
The two men exchanged a look. The second man, slightly older with graying hair at his temples, reached into his breast pocket. I braced myself for a badge or a summons. Instead, he pulled out a small, cream-colored envelope made of thick, expensive cardstock. He set it down on the counter between us.
“We aren’t here about the money for the flowers,” the first man said, his expression softening just a fraction. “We represent the estate of Arthur Sterling. I believe you’ve seen his daughter, Callie, recently.”
The name Sterling rang a bell, but I couldn’t place it until it hit me like a physical weight. Arthur Sterling was one of the biggest real estate developers in the city, a man known for his reclusiveness since his wife had passed away in a tragic accident a year prior. I had seen him on the news, but I had no idea that the disheveled little girl in the oversized denim jacket was the daughter of a billionaire.
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