The gentle hum of the salon blow dryers filled the air, mixing with the quiet chatter of afternoon clients enjoying their weekly styling appointments.
Stylist: How is the temperature of the water, Mrs. Gable? Is it too warm for your scalp?
Mrs. Gable: It's fine, just hurry up. I have a luncheon appointment across town in twenty minutes.
Elena wiped a stray lock of hair from her forehead, her white salon uniform spotless as she adjusted her grip on the styling scissors.
Elena: We are moving as fast as we can, but a proper keratin treatment takes patience.
Mrs. Gable: Patience is for people who don't run a multi-million-dollar real estate trust fund.
Across the room, the heavy oak entrance door swung open, letting in a sharp breeze from the bustling Chicago sidewalk outside.
A woman wrapped in an expensive black velvet cape strode directly toward the washing stations without waiting for the receptionist.
Client in Cape: Who is in charge of this overpriced establishment today?
Receptionist: Ma'am, you need to sign in at the front desk before heading back to the styling chairs.
Client in Cape: Save the administrative lecture. I'm looking for the owner of this salon right now.
Elena stepped away from her station, her expression calm as she approached the furious newcomer.
Elena: I manage this location. Is there something wrong with your service today?
Client in Cape: Everything is wrong, starting with the incompetent staff you employ in this place.
Elena: Please lower your voice, other customers are trying to relax[cite: 1].
Client in Cape: Don't you dare tell me how to speak in public, you little nobody!
Will Elena's calm demeanor be enough to weather the storm, or has she just crossed paths with someone who destroys lives for sport?