“Sure you did.”
Naomi's fingers tightened around the order pad.
“I did.”
Victor looked toward his guests.
“Did you hear that?”
Nobody answered.
Henry Lin remained silent.
Victor turned back to Naomi.
“I asked for someone who speaks Mandarin.”
Naomi paused.
Then she answered quietly.
“I do.”
Victor blinked.
For the first time that evening, he seemed genuinely surprised.
Then he laughed again.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You speak Mandarin?”
“Yes.”
“Fluently?”
“Yes.”
Victor leaned forward.
Something changed in his eyes.
Amusement.
No.
Something worse.
He had found entertainment.
“You don't look like someone who speaks Mandarin.”
Naomi stared at him.
She had heard similar sentences throughout her life.
You don't look like a lawyer.
You don't look like a Stanford graduate.
You don't look like you belong in that room.
People often treated appearance as evidence.
Naomi knew better.
She took a slow breath.
“Would you like me to ask the manager to come over?”
“No.”
Victor shook his head.
“I want you to stop pretending.”
Naomi said nothing.
He continued.
“You're making this uncomfortable.”
Naomi looked at the three guests.
They looked uncomfortable too.
Then Michael Zhao said something quietly in Mandarin.
Victor did not understand him.
Naomi did.
Why is he treating her this way?
Daniel Wu answered.
Perhaps he believes humiliating people is a demonstration of power.
Naomi almost smiled.
Instead, she remained silent.
Victor noticed the exchange.
“You don't understand them, do you?”
Naomi looked at him.
“I understand.”
Victor smiled.
“Prove it.”
Naomi could have done so immediately.
She could have translated every word.
Instead, she asked:
“Would you like me to?”
Victor's smile widened.
“Yes.”
He looked around the dining room.
Several people were watching now.
The restaurant manager, Carlos Mendes, had emerged from the kitchen and was standing near the service station.
He looked worried.
Victor turned back toward Naomi.
“I'll make you a deal.”
Naomi waited.
“If you can speak one complete sentence in Mandarin, I'll give you fifty thousand dollars.”
A murmur moved through the restaurant.
Michael Zhao frowned.
Victor continued.
“Not three memorized words. Not something from a language app. A complete sentence.”
Naomi raised one eyebrow.
“Fifty thousand dollars?”
Victor smiled smugly.
“You heard me.”
“That's a lot of money for one sentence.”
“I have a lot of money.”
There was something deeply unpleasant about the way he said it.
As if wealth gave him permission to turn human beings into toys.
Naomi glanced toward Henry Lin.
He was watching her.
Not laughing.
Not smiling.
Simply watching.
Victor tapped his fingers against the table.
“Actually...”
He paused.
“Make it one hundred thousand.”
The murmur in the restaurant grew louder.
Someone near the bar whispered:
“No way.”
Victor looked directly into Naomi's eyes.
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
Naomi felt her heartbeat accelerate.
One hundred thousand dollars.
The number moved through her mind with frightening speed.
It could pay the remaining medical debt from her father's illness.
It could repair the leaking roof of the small house where he lived.
It could allow her to return to the legal studies she had abandoned years ago.
It could give her choices.
Real choices.
But money was not the reason she accepted.
She accepted because she recognized the expression in Victor Hale's eyes.
He did not believe she could do it.
That was only part of it.
The truth was uglier.
He wanted to watch her fail.
Naomi had spent years learning that some battles were not worth fighting.
This one was.
She placed her order pad on the table.
“All right.”
Victor smiled.
The trap, he believed, had been set.
Naomi looked at Henry Lin.
Then she spoke.
In flawless Mandarin.
“Mr. Lin, before I begin, I believe your colleague just asked why Mr. Hale feels the need to humiliate the people serving him.”
The entire table froze.
Victor's smile disappeared.
Naomi continued in Mandarin.
“Mr. Wu replied that some people confuse arrogance with authority.”
Daniel Wu slowly looked up.
Michael Zhao covered his mouth, hiding a smile.
Naomi continued.
“And Mr. Zhao said that if Mr. Hale's behavior toward employees reflects the way he treats partners, perhaps your investment group should reconsider tonight's meeting.”
The restaurant became completely silent.
Victor Hale stared at her.
Henry Lin's eyes narrowed slightly.
Not in anger.
In interest.
Then Naomi switched back to English.
“Would you like another sentence?”
Victor's face turned red.
Carlos, the restaurant manager, stood frozen near the service station.
Nobody moved.
Then Henry Lin spoke.
In Mandarin.
Naomi answered immediately.
For the next thirty seconds, the two held a conversation Victor could not understand.
Naomi spoke clearly and naturally.
Not like someone repeating memorized phrases.
Not like someone proving a point.
Like someone who had lived with the language.
When she finally stopped, Henry Lin leaned back.
Then he laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh anyone at the table had heard all evening.