Dollar bills flew across the white tablecloth as the woman in red looked at the young waitress and said, “Pick it up. That's all you're worth.” Seconds later, the restaurant manager would fire the waitress and put his hand on her after she refused to accept the humiliation. But the calm woman standing beside that table clearly knew something about Victoria that neither Victoria nor the manager understood yet.

Victoria’s threat echoed off the high ceilings of the restaurant. You'll never work in New York again.

It was the ultimate weapon of the New York elite—the promise of blacklisting, total destruction, and financial starvation.

Ordinary waitresses in that position would have broken down. They would have cried, pleaded for their jobs, or rushed out the back exit in tears.

Maya did none of those things.

Instead, she stood completely still in the middle of the aisle. Slowly, deliberately, her right hand reached up to the left side of her crisp white shirt.

Her fingers caught the pin of the employee badge.

Click.

She unpinned it.

Maya looked down at the cheap plastic rectangle that read MAYA – SERVER. With a faint, almost pitying smile, she dropped the badge onto the silver serving tray resting beside Victoria’s elbow.

The plastic badge landed with a sharp clack right on top of the thirty thousand dollars in cash.

"I won't be needing that anymore," Maya murmured softly.

She smoothed the front of her plain white shirt. The subtle transformation was terrifying. Without the badge, without the posture of service, the subtle elegance she had been suppressing surged to the surface. She wasn't standing like a fired employee facing her accuser; she was standing like an emperor observing an insect.

Victoria felt an unnatural chill run down her spine. "Why are you still standing there? Get out of my sight."

Maya took a half-step closer to Table 14. She leaned down slightly, placing both hands flat on the edge of the mahogany table, looking directly into Victoria’s panicked eyes.