I had been sitting in the employee break room for more than an hour, writing down everything I remembered at Rachel's request.
The exact words Whitmore used.
The moment he threw the menu.
What I saw on the open contract.
What I said in Cantonese.
Mr. Lam's response.
And Whitmore's threat.
Teresa stayed with me whenever her tables allowed.
She brought water, reminded me to eat, and corrected me when I began blaming myself for losing control of the situation.
"You didn't throw anything," she said.
I looked up from my notebook.
"You didn't start that bet."
"And you didn't make that man change a financial document."
She folded her arms.
"I'm going to keep saying it until you stop looking guilty."
I almost smiled.
She sat beside me.
For several seconds, we were quiet.
Then I looked toward her.
"What if I lose this job?"
She considered the question.
"We'll figure it out."
I shook my head.
"You don't understand. I've already been through this once."
Her expression softened.
I stared at my hands.
"I can't keep starting over."
Teresa was quiet.
Then she reached for my notebook.
She didn't open it.
She simply placed her hand over the cover.
"Naomi, you're not starting from nothing."
I looked toward her.
"You've got an education. Experience. A lawyer. People who care about you. And apparently enough Cantonese to scare the hell out of a millionaire."
I laughed despite myself.
"There she is."
I wiped my eyes.
For a moment, I felt almost normal.
Then the break room door opened.
Paul Donovan stood outside.
His expression was rigid.
"Naomi. My office."
Teresa immediately stood.
Paul looked irritated.
"This is a personnel conversation."
Teresa folded her arms.
"Then ask whether she wants a representative or witness."
For a moment, I thought he would shout.
Instead, he looked toward me.
"Do you want Teresa present?"
His expression tightened.
We followed him down the service corridor.
His office was small, with a desk, two chairs, and a wall covered in staff schedules.
I remained standing until Teresa pulled out a chair for me.
Paul folded his hands.
"Naomi, I'm extremely disappointed."
I took a breath.
"I'm sorry the lunch service was disrupted."
He shook his head.
"Disrupted? A major client abandoned a private signing."
I looked at him.
"Mr. Lam stopped the signing because he wanted his lawyer to verify a contract."
Paul leaned forward.
"That's not your concern."
I kept my voice steady.
"It was a financial issue I had previously reported in a professional capacity."
He waved one hand.
"You're employed here as a server."
"Not a financial adviser."
"I didn't give financial advice. I warned a guest about an apparent discrepancy when another guest challenged me publicly."
Paul's face flushed.
"You're missing the point."
Teresa shifted beside me.
I looked toward him.
"Then explain it."
For a moment, I could see his frustration at being asked to articulate something he believed should be obvious.
Finally, he said, "You should have remained professional."
"What would professionalism have required?"
"Not escalating the situation."
Then asked quietly, "When Mr. Whitmore threw the menu at my feet and challenged me, should I have remained silent?"
Paul hesitated.
"Guests sometimes behave poorly."
"And when they do?"
"We try to manage it discreetly."
Teresa leaned forward.
"She was trying to take a lunch order. He created a spectacle."
Paul looked toward her.
"Teresa, please."
She didn't move.
Paul turned back to me.
"The hotel has a reputation to protect."
I felt my chest tighten.
There it was again.
The same word Northbridge used when I reported the forty-million-dollar discrepancy.
I took a slow breath.
"And employees?"
"Do employees have a reputation and dignity worth protecting too?"
The question seemed to irritate him more than anything else I had said.
Finally, he looked toward the schedule on his desk.