Then he remembered that the photograph was nearly twenty years old, and the elderly man who had walked into Lumina yesterday had looked like someone who had spent a long time trying not to attract attention.
"You're saying the man I gave a haircut to was Arthur Whitmore?"
Martin nodded.
Daniel stared at him.
"Why would the owner come in wearing clothes like that?"
Martin gave a small, humorless smile.
"That is one of the questions we need to answer."
Before Daniel could respond, Vanessa returned.
She carried a thick folder and a tablet.
"Mr. Shaw, I've gathered yesterday's appointment records."
"Thank you. Please place them on the desk."
She did so.
Martin opened the folder and began reviewing the pages.
Vanessa remained beside him.
"Was there a problem with Mr. Whitmore's visit?"
Martin looked up.
"Who?"
"Mr. Whitmore."
"You said you weren't aware he'd visited."
Vanessa's face stiffened.
"I meant that I hadn't personally confirmed his identity."
"Did you know the elderly customer who came in yesterday might have been Mr. Whitmore?"
"No."
"Then why did you mention his visit?"
Vanessa blinked.
"I was simply asking for clarification."
Martin regarded her for a long moment.
"Very well."
He returned to the records.
Daniel watched Vanessa's hands.
Her fingernails, usually tapping impatiently against the counter, were completely still.
Martin turned several pages.
"These records show that three appointments were canceled yesterday."
"Yes," Vanessa said.
"One at two-fifteen, one at two-thirty, and one at three."
"Correct."
"And Mr. Whitmore arrived at approximately two-forty?"
"I believe so."
"You believe so?"
"That is what the schedule suggests."
Martin tapped the page.
"Your system shows four available chairs at that time."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Availability isn't the only consideration. We have standards for walk-ins."
"Of course."
"We can't accept everyone who walks through the door."
Martin looked up.
"Who determines whether someone is appropriate for Lumina?"
"Management."
"Which means you?"
"As floor manager, I coordinate the schedule."
"Are you the floor manager?"
Vanessa hesitated.
"Unofficially, yes. I handle most of the day-to-day operations."
Martin nodded slowly.
"And who authorized you to make decisions about which customers are appropriate?"
"I have been doing this for three years."
"That wasn't my question."
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"I was promoted by the previous salon director."
"Was the promotion documented?"
"I believe so."
"Then we'll review the records."
For the first time, Vanessa appeared genuinely alarmed.
Martin continued.
"Did you inform Mr. Whitmore that the salon was unavailable?"
"I told him we didn't generally accept walk-ins."
"Did you check the appointment system?"
"Yes."
"Did you offer him the next available appointment?"
"No."
"Did you offer an alternative service?"
"No."
"Did you ask whether he had a special circumstance that might require assistance?"
Vanessa's lips parted.
Then closed.
"No."
Martin made another note.
"Why not?"
"Because he didn't seem like the kind of customer who would use our services."
The words emerged before Vanessa could soften them.
Silence followed.
Martin slowly closed the folder.
"Thank you for your honesty."
Vanessa looked at him.
"I didn't mean—"
"I understand what you meant."
He turned toward Daniel.
"Would you mind joining me in the conference room for ten minutes?"
Daniel glanced at his station.
"My next appointment is in twenty minutes."
"I'll make sure your schedule is adjusted."
Daniel followed him toward the back corridor.
As they passed the staff office, Daniel noticed the photograph of Arthur Whitmore again.
For the first time, he understood why the frame had been placed where it was.
It was not simply decoration.
It was supposed to remind the staff who had built the business.
Somewhere along the way, however, the people working beneath that photograph had begun to believe that they were the ones who determined who deserved to enter.
The conference room was small, with a glass wall overlooking the city.
Martin invited Daniel to sit.
"Would you like some water?"
"Yes, please."
Martin poured two glasses from a pitcher.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then Martin leaned forward.
"I want you to understand something. Mr. Whitmore has not asked me to punish anyone."
Daniel frowned.
"He hasn't?"
"No. He asked me to establish what happened yesterday and whether it reflects a broader problem."
"Why would he suspect a broader problem?"
Martin studied him.
"Because he has been hearing complaints for months."
Daniel sat straighter.
"From customers?"
"Customers, former employees, and a few current employees who have contacted the corporate office."
"What kind of complaints?"
"Disrespectful treatment. Unexplained appointment cancellations. Pressure to purchase products. Complaints that certain customers are given preferential treatment while others are discouraged from booking."
Daniel felt a cold knot forming in his stomach.
He had witnessed some of those things.
A woman had once been told that her natural hair was too difficult for the salon's premium styling service. A construction supervisor who arrived wearing work clothes had been asked to wait outside until his appointment time, despite the waiting room being empty. A young man with a visible disability had been pressured to book an expensive package he did not understand.
Daniel had assumed these incidents were isolated.
Perhaps they were not.
"Why hasn't the company addressed this?" he asked.
Martin looked toward the window.
"That is a fair question."
"You're the regional operations director."
"I am."