"I''m sorry, sir, but as I exined, your reservation has been... reassigned," the manager repeated, his eyes avoiding mine.


    I studied him carefully. The way his gaze darted nervously toward the dining room told me everything I needed to know. This wasn''t just a booking error.


    "Who exactly took our table?" I pressed, keeping my voice level.


    The manager fidgeted with his tie. "Mr. Juan Diaz from Brilliant Real Estate required additional seating for his party, and as you hadn''t arrived yet..."


    "We''re thirty minutes early," Eamon protested, his face flushing with indignation. "How is thatte?"


    I ced a calming hand on his shoulder. Getting angry wouldn''t solve anything. "Which table was it?"


    "Table Three, sir. Our best view of the city."


    "I see." I nodded slowly. "And this Mr. Diaz... he simply decided he wanted our table?"


    The manager''s smile tightened. "He''s a very important client."


    "And we''re not," Eamon muttered bitterly.


    I made a quick decision. "We''ll wait for Table Three."


    Both the manager and Eamon turned to me with surprise.


    "But sir, Mr. Diaz has already—"


    "You said he took our table because we hadn''t arrived. Well, now we''ve arrived." I smiled thinly. "We''ll sit in the lounge until Table Three bes avable."


    The manager''s face paled. "Mr. Knight, I don''t think you understand. Mr. Diaz is—"


    "Is enjoying a table reserved under my name," I finished for him. "When he''s finished, we''ll take our reservation. Simple."


    Without waiting for a response, I walked toward the lounge area, leaving the flustered manager behind. Eamon hurried to catch up.


    "Are you sure about this?" he whispered. "Juan Diaz is a big shot in Havenwood. He owns half themercial real estate downtown."


    I settled into a plush armchair with a clear view of the dining room. "I''m sure."


    Eamon sat across from me, looking nervous. "I actually know him from university. He was always... difficult."


    "Difficult how?"


    "Arrogant. Entitled. The type who''d steal your girlfriend and thenugh about it to your face." Eamon grimaced. "He''s only gotten worse since he struck it rich."


    I ordered drinks for both of us while we waited. Through the ss partition, I could see an borate party at Table Three. Men in expensive suits, women dripping with jewelry, champagne flowing freely. In the center sat a man I assumed was Juan Diaz—mid-thirties, sharp features, a gold watch that caught the light with every exaggerated gesture.


    "That''s him," Eamon confirmed, following my gaze. "Looks like he''s celebrating something big."


    I sipped my drink. "Let''s find out what."


    An hour passed. Our drinks were refilled twice. The manager kept throwing anxious nces our way, probably hoping we''d give up and leave. But I remained patient, watching the revelry at our table with detached interest.


    Finally, the group at Table Three began to disperse. Some headed for the bar, others toward the restrooms. Juan Diaz remained, deep in conversation with two associates.


    I stood. "Now''s our chance."


    Eamon choked on his drink. "Wait, what are you—"


    But I was already moving, calmly walking straight to Table Three. Juan Diaz looked up as I approached, his conversation pausing mid-sentence.


    "Good evening," I said pleasantly, pulling out an empty chair. "Mind if we join you?"


    Confusion shed across his face. "Excuse me?"


    "This is our reserved table," I exined, taking a seat. "I believe there was a mix-up."


    Juan straightened, eyeing me with growing irritation. "And you are?"


    "Liam Knight. This is my friend, Eamon Greene."


    Recognition sparked in Juan''s eyes as he spotted Eamon. "Greene? From Economics 201?" A smirk spread across his face. "Well, this is a surprise. Little Eamon Greene, still following people around like a lost puppy."


    Eamon flushed but managed a stiff nod. "Hello, Juan."


    Juan turned his attention back to me. "Look, Knight, I don''t know what game you''re ying, but this table is upied. We''re celebrating a major acquisition. Why don''t you find somewhere else to sit?"


    I didn''t budge. "We reserved this table ten days ago for our New Year''s Eve dinner. The manager gave it away without our knowledge."


    "And?" Juan raised an eyebrow. "That''s between you and the management. I''m a VIP client here."


    "So am I," I replied calmly.


    Juan''s associates exchanged nces. One of them leaned forward. "Do you know who you''re talking to? Juan Diaz owns Brilliant Real Estate. He could buy this entire hotel if he wanted."


    I merely smiled. "Impressive. But that doesn''t change the fact that this is our table."


    The manager appeared, wringing his hands. "Mr. Knight, please. We can set you up at another table. The chef will prepare something special—"


    "That won''t be necessary," I interrupted. "We''re happy right here." <strong ss="in-imprint-a">Help us continue by reading at the source: *.</strong>


    Juan Diaz studied me with narrowed eyes. "You''ve got balls, I''ll give you that." He leaned back, a calcting look crossing his face. "Alright, fine. Stay if you want. We''re almost done anyway."


    He gestured to his associates. "Make room for our... unexpected guests."


    The tension at the table was palpable as chairs were rearranged. Eamon looked like he wanted to disappear. I maintained myposure, unruffled by the hostility surrounding us.


    "So, Knight," Juan said, swirling his wine ss. "What do you do that makes you think you can interrupt my celebration?"


    "I''m in pharmaceuticals," I replied simply.


    Juan snorted. "What, you sell vitamins at a mall kiosk?"


    His associates chuckled on cue.


    "Something like that," I said, unbothered.


    Juan turned to Eamon. "And you? Still struggling through entry-level positions? Last I heard you were some kind of assistant."


    Eamon stiffened. "I''m an executive assistant to Mr. Knight now."


    "Ah, so you''re still someone''s shadow. Good to know some things never change."


    I watched Eamon''s difort grow and decided to intervene. "Mr. Greene is an invaluable part of my operation. His analytical skills have saved me millions."


    Juan raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. "Is that so? Well, good for little Eamon." He pped Eamon on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "Always knew you''d find your ce. Carrying someone else''s briefcase."


    Our food arrived—a rushed order from the kitchen, no doubt arranged by the anxious manager. Juan watched with amusement as we began to eat.


    "You know," he said conversationally, "I just acquired the Westwood za downtown. Thirty-story office building, prime location. Cost me fifty million, but it''ll be worth triple that in five years."


    I nodded politely. "Congrattions."


    "What''s the biggest deal you''ve ever closed?" Juan pressed, eyes gleaming with challenge.


    "I don''t measure sess in those terms."


    Juanughed. "Of course you don''t. Because you haven''t done anything worth measuring."


    One of his associates—a thin man with slicked-back hair—jumped in. "Juan just secured exclusive rights to develop the riverfront. The mayor signed off yesterday."


    "Biggest development deal in Havenwood history," Juan added smugly.


    I continued eating, unimpressed. "The riverfront has potential."


    Juan''s expression hardened at my lukewarm response. "You know what, Knight? You seem like a man who needs a reality check. I could use someone like you on my security team. Starting sry is decent. You''d have to get rid of that attitude, though."


    Eamon nearly choked on his food. I simply smiled.


    "Thank you for the offer, but I''m content with my current position."


    Juan snorted. "Right. ''Pharmaceuticals.'' Tell me another one."


    Our ufortable dinner continued this way, with Juan alternating between boasting about his achievements and making thinly veiled insults. Eamon grew increasingly tense beside me, but I maintained myposure.


    As dessert was served, a well-dressed man approached our table carrying an ornate gift box.


    "Mr. Diaz," he said deferentially. "I hope I''m not interrupting, but I wanted to personally deliver this New Year''s gift. The board wanted to express our appreciation for your continued partnership."


    Juan''s face lit up. He took the package with exaggerated modesty. "You shouldn''t have, Thomson. But I appreciate the gesture."


    The man bowed slightly and retreated. Juan made a show of unwrapping the gift—an expensive bottle of aged whiskey.


    "See that, Knight?" Juan smirked, holding up the bottle. "That''s what respect looks like. People showing appreciation." He nced around theatrically. "Funny, I don''t see anyone lining up to give you New Year''s gifts."


    His associates chuckled on cue.


    I shrugged. "I suppose not."


    Juan leaned forward, his eyes glinting with malice. "Howe nobody hase to pay you a New Year''s visit during the New Year? Is it because nobody knows who you are?"


    I set down my fork and met his gaze steadily. "Maybe it''s not time yet."


    Juanughed dismissively, but something in my calm demeanor made him pause. For a brief moment, doubt flickered across his face.


    I smiled inwardly, thinking of Conrad Thornton and Roman Volkov, both of whom had promised to meet me in Havenwood after the holiday. Juan Diaz might be a big fish in this small pond, but he had no idea what kind of ocean I now swam in.


    The real test of strength wasn''t about flexing power—it was about knowing when you didn''t need to.