When she finally spoke, her voice was a masterclass in emotional control. It was not loud, nor was it laced with the venom she was entirely justified in feeling. It was smooth, steady, and cut through the tension like a scalpel.
"I speak four languages, sir," Maya stated, holding his gaze with terrifying precision.
The smirk on Richard’s face faltered for a fraction of a second. He was a man who bullied boardrooms into submission; he was not used to being challenged by someone wearing a leather apron. Beside him, Mr. Chen’s posture shifted slightly. The investor leaned forward just a fraction of an inch, his dark eyes fixed intently on Maya, a flicker of genuine intrigue finally breaking his stoic facade.
Richard felt the dynamic of the room slipping from his grasp. The onlookers weren't looking at Maya with pity anymore; they were looking at him with quiet disgust. His fragile ego, already battered by his company's impending financial ruin, could not handle being bested by a waitress in front of the man holding the keys to his salvation. He needed to crush her completely, and he knew only one way to do it: with overwhelming, insurmountable wealth.
Driven by a toxic mix of panic and arrogance, Richard reached aggressively inside his suit jacket. He bypassed his sleek leather wallet and withdrew a thick, dense brick of cash. It was banded with a purple bank strap—a hundred thousand dollars in crisp, uncirculated hundred-dollar bills. He had brought it as a flashy show of liquidity for Mr. Chen, a prop to prove he wasn't as desperate as the market rumors suggested.
With a theatrical, aggressive flourish, Richard slammed the brick of cash onto the center of the table. The heavy thud echoed in the quiet café.