?Chapter 71:


    Taking a moment, Maxwell reached for the ss, brought it close to his nose, and drew in a slow breath before tasting it.


    The room tensed around him. Every onlooker leaned in, holding their breath for his verdict.


    Across the floor, Denny stood smug and unbothered. That bottle had been doctored carefully enough to fool experts. No way some random woman would blow the cover.


    And Maxwell? He might have loved his liquor, but in Denny’s eyes, he was no sommelier. There was no chance he would catch the trick.


    All Denny wanted was to watch Maia crash and burn. Preferably with a few broken fingers for good measure.


    Just when Denny started picturing her downfall, Maxwell’s face shifted. First surprise, then a heavy frown pulling at his brows. Raising his voice so there was no mistaking it, Maxwell said, “I toured the Macan distillery myself years ago. Had the real 1950 straight from the source. One sip and you never forget it. Whatever this is, it doesn’t evene close.”


    Without hesitation, Maxwell set the ss down and turned toward Maia with a slow nod of respect. “You’re right. It’s a fake.”


    “Fake?” Gasps tore through the crowd, their disbelief hanging thick in the air.


    Vincenzo blinked rapidly, his face a portrait of stunned confusion.


    Across the room, Denny’s mouth fell open,pletely at a loss for words.


    No one could quite wrap their heads around it. Even after tampering with the liquor and adding all those vor tricks, Maxwell had still sniffed out the fraud with a single sip.


    Denny muttered to himself, “Is she just making another wild guess?”


    A faint smile flickered across Maia’s face, smoothing away the sharp edges of her earlier coolness. There was a quiet brilliance now lighting up her gaze as she turned to Maxwell. “You’re good, Mr. Payne,” she said gently. “They poured tampered liquor into an original Macan 1950 bottle. Most folks wouldn’t have noticed.”


    Without saying a word, Maxwell lifted his ss in a silent toast, giving Maia her due.


    Meanwhile, Denny stood rooted to the spot, his body refusing to move. Every word she spoke had been dead-on. A sick, sinking feeling crawled through his legs, leaving him barely able to stand.


    Turning her attention back to the towering wine cab, Maia said slowly, “Second row, fifth bottle… pull that one. Third row, twelfth bottle… grab it. Fifth row, third from the bottom… hand it over.”


    Every time she pointed out another bottle, Denny felt like he was strapped to a runaway rollercoaster, getting thrown side to side without a moment to catch his breath.


    Luck could exin picking out one or two bottles. But finding fakes with that kind of precision from a wall of hundreds? That was something else.


    A cold shudder crept through Denny’s limbs, and he realized with horror that his hands had started to shake.


    No way! How could it be?!


    She couldn’t be older than her early twenties. How in the hell did she have this kind of nose for liquor?


    By the time Maia nailed the tenth fake, Maxwell rose from his seat. The teasing grin he wore earlier had drained away, reced by a grim, unreadable expression.


    Without blinking, Maxwell cut his gaze sharply toward Vincenzo.


    “That’s enough. There’s no need to continue.”


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