"What did you just say to me?" Vance spat, leaning across the table, his knuckles white against the mahogany. "Are you talking back to me? Do you have any idea who I am? I could have your manager fire you and blackball you before your shift ends."
"I heard you perfectly clear the first time," Maya replied, her gaze unwavering. "And I ask you again: would you like me to resolve your contract dispute, or would you prefer to continue stalling your fifty-million-dollar deal out of pride?"
Vance's throat tightened in fury. "Did I stutter, girl? I said I want a native speaker! Someone who actually understands native Mandarin phonetics and legal structure. You couldn't possibly grasp the subtleties of native speech."
"Mr. Vance," she said clearly. "I offered you a solution to your problem. There is no need to raise your voice, nor is there any reason to make assumptions about my background or the background of the staff in this establishment."
Vance stared at her in utter disbelief. He was a man who commanded boardrooms, who fired executives with a nod, and here was a floor worker addressing him with zero deference.
"What did you just say to me?" Vance spat, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "Are you talking back to me? Do you realize who I am? I could have your manager fire you before you finish your shift."
"I heard you perfectly clear the first time," Maya replied, her gaze unwavering. "And I ask you again: would you like me to translate your contract dispute, or would you prefer to continue delaying your fifty-million-dollar deal?"
Vance's face turned crimson. "Did I stutter, girl? I said I want a native speaker. Someone who actually knows what they're talking about. You couldn't possibly understand the nuances of native Mandarin."
Chapter 8: The Bet on the Table ($100,000 Challenge)
A heavy, expectant silence descended upon the entire main floor of Le Grand Palais. The surrounding tables fell quiet, patrons dropping their cutlery to witness the dramatic confrontation unfolding at Table Seven.
Richard Vance, feeling publicly challenged and blinded by his own toxic pride, let out a dark, bitter laugh. He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out an alligator-skin checkbook alongside a heavy gold Montblanc pen, and slammed them onto the table beside the contract documents.
"You think you're smart?" Vance hissed, his voice laced with absolute contempt. "You think you can stand there and play head games with me in front of my clients? Let's test that absolute arrogance."
With aggressive strokes, Vance wrote out a check, signed it with an exaggerated flourish, and tossed it into the center of the linen table, right beside a silver dinner plate.
"$100,000 on this plate says you can't even say hello like a native!" Vance declared loudly, ensuring his voice carried to every corner of the room. "There is a check for one hundred thousand dollars. If you can step up right now, address Mr. Chen and Mr. Zhang in flawless, native-level corporate Mandarin, resolve their legal objection without a single vocal stumble, and get this deal back on track... this check is yours."
He leaned back, crossing his arms with a cruel, confident smirk.
"But if you fail—if you stumble over a single tone, embarrass my firm, or waste another second of my time—you turn in your apron, walk out that door immediately, and I will personally see to it that you never work in hospitality or corporate consulting in this state again. Do we have a deal?"
Vance, feeling cornered by his own ego and enraged by what he perceived as insubordination, let out a harsh laugh. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out an alligator-skin checkbook and a sleek Montblanc pen.
"You think you're smart?" Vance said, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you can play games with me? Let's test that arrogance."
He rapidly wrote out a check, signed it with a flourish, and slammed it onto the center of the table.
"There is a check for one hundred thousand dollars," Vance announced loudly, ensuring the neighboring tables could hear every word. "If you can step up right now, speak to Mr. Chen and Mr. Zhang in flawless, native-level Mandarin, address their specific legal concern without making a single phonetic or grammatical error, and convince them to resume this negotiation... this check is yours."
He leaned back, folding his arms, a smug smile playing on his lips.
"But if you fail, if you butcher their language and embarrass my firm, you walk out that door right now, turn in your apron, and never work in this city again. Do we have a deal, or are you going to run back to the kitchen?"