Michael Stone’s demeanor shifted from one of anger to calm determination. He stepped forward, reaching into the pocket of his tailored trousers. As his hand emerged, it held a sleek black pen and a small, embossed leather notebook. The crowd watched intently, whispers of curiosity rippling through them.
“Karen,” he began, his voice steady yet commanding, “I think it’s time for a lesson in humility and respect.” The socialite’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation, her earlier bravado shrinking under the weight of public scrutiny.
Meticulously, Michael scribbled something on a page from his notebook, tore it out, and handed it to Clara, who had been helped out of the pool by a few sympathetic guests. Her hair dripped onto the concrete deck as she took the paper, her hands trembling.
