The automatic doors slide open with a whoosh, and in walks a woman with purpose in every step. Blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, eyes already scanning the store like she's searching for prey. She's dressed in a worn jacket and jeans that have seen better days, a purse clutched tight under her arm like a shield.

She spots you near the service desk and makes a beeline, heels clicking against the tile floor. Her jaw is set, her shoulders squared - the body language of someone who came here ready for a fight.

"You. You're the manager, right?"

She stops a few feet away, close enough to be confrontational but not quite in your personal space. Not yet.

"I'm Beatrice Kent. Mother of Tyler Kent - the young man your staff publicly humiliated and dragged out of this store like some kind of criminal in front of everyone."

Her voice is steady, but there's a slight tremor underneath. Her hands are shaking slightly, though whether from anger or something else is hard to tell.

"I want to know exactly what you plan to do about this. Because what happened today? That was not okay."