As I stood there, the room went silent, the only sound being the soft clink of glasses as someone nervously adjusted their grip. Evelyn’s eyes shot daggers at me, but I could see the panic behind them. The whole room was watching, and her wealthy friends, who moments before were chuckling at her “joke,” now shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“Evelyn,” I said, maintaining the steady calmness in my voice despite the storm brewing inside me, “I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt before. But this is a business, not a charity. I’m sure you understand.”
Her hands trembled as she picked up the invoice, eyes scanning the page, the total glaring up at her like a beacon of impending accountability. Her friends exchanged glances, whispers spreading like wildfire. The weight of the room pressed in, and all eyes were on her, expecting her to do something—anything—that would align with the power she claimed to wield.
