Chapter 2 - Page Forty-Seven
The cinematic tension in the grand restaurant instantly spiked to an apocalyptic level.
A tight close-up would have captured the exact moment Grant’s soul left his body. His condescending, arrogant smile vanished, violently replaced by pure, unadulterated shock and pale terror. He physically recoiled in his leather chair, staring at the "clueless" waitress who had just dismantled his superiority complex in ten seconds.
In the background, Grant’s heavily armed guards in tailored black suits tensed up in absolute confusion, sensing the sudden, terrifying shift in the room's energy.
I completely ignored the men with the guns.
My eyes slowly shifted from Grant’s terrified face down to the open, highly classified contract resting on the table between him and the cartel boss.
I reached out with my hand. I didn't clear the plates. I placed my index finger directly on the center of page forty-seven.
"Your numbers are wrong, Mr. Maddox," I stated, switching back to perfectly cold, crisp English.
Tariq, the cartel representative, immediately stopped smiling. His dark eyes darted from my finger to the paperwork, then glared directly at Grant.
"What is she talking about, Grant?" Tariq demanded, his voice dropping into a lethal, suspicious register.
Grant began to sweat. The untouchable apex predator of the city suddenly looked like a cornered rat.
May you like
"She's... she's just a crazy waitress!" Grant stammered, frantically trying to pull the contract away from my finger. "Guards! Get this trash out of my VIP room right now!"
👉 Grant tried to silence me with his armed men, but the specific detail I read aloud from the page was about to freeze his heart.
