“Isn’t that the truth?” Jason scoffed. “You spent two years abroad recovering—no job, no income. Other than spending Emily’s money, what can you do? Take the tux off or we go to the station.”
He signaled his guys, and two of them rolled their shoulders and advanced.
“He’s a guest of the Lewis family. Who dares lay a hand on him?”
A resonant voice carried from the entrance, followed by steady footsteps.
The Lewis family’s butler appeared in a tailcoat with a silver crest pinned to his chest, two staffers in tow. He came straight to my side.
Before Jason could speak, the butler presented a gilt-edged document to the officers, his tone crisp:
“Officers, everyone—this tux is a private custom piece commissioned by Mr. Lewis for Mr. Johnson.
It was flown in from the atelier in Italy this morning to this hotel. The invoice bears Mr. Johnson’s name, measurements, and the atelier’s exclusive seal. It is not a ‘lost item,’ as alleged.”
Then he turned to Emily, a cool edge in his voice:
“Ms. Parker, you say you commissioned this for that gentleman?
To my knowledge, the Lewis family has an exclusive arrangement with the atelier. Without Lewis authorization, no identical piece can be made.