Arrogant Billionaire Asks Waitress for Financial Advice to Mock Her — What She Says Stuns Him
Chapter 3
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For two years, she'd served his table every Saturday. She'd heard him brag about deals. She'd listened to him advise his friends on investments. She'd watched him take phone calls about Nexus Technologies, his voice low and urgent.Six months ago, she'd started keeping notes. Three months ago, she'd noticed the patterns: the TV appearances, the stock jumps, the quiet sales. Two months ago, she'd pulled Nexus's SEC filings and found what she was looking for: the footnotes that everyone else ignored.Felicia Turner knew exactly what Garrett Whitmore was doing. She'd just been waiting for the right moment.There was one other person in that restaurant who knew Felicia's secret.Harold Brennan sat alone at a corner table nursing a cup of coffee. 72 years old, white hair, kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like someone's grandfather. He was, in fact, one of the most respected financial minds in America. Harold had spent 30 years as a professor at NYU's Stern School of Business. He'd consulted for the Federal Reserve. He'd trained a generation of Wall Street leaders.Now retired, he came to the Meridian Club every Saturday for the quiet, and for the conversations with a certain waitress who knew more about markets than most of his former students.Harold had recognized Felicia's brilliance months ago. He'd watched her explain complex financial instruments using salt shakers and napkins. He'd tested her with questions that would stump MBA candidates; she'd answered every one. He'd asked her once why she was working as a waitress. She'd just smiled and said, "Sometimes the best view of the game is from the sidelines."Harold didn't push. But he understood: this woman was waiting for something.And now, watching Garrett Whitmore humiliate her in front of the entire restaurant, Harold Brennan realized the wait was over.The laughter at Garrett's table faded slowly, like ripples dying on still water. Felicia hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. She just stood there holding the champagne bottle, her face unreadable.Garrett loved that—the silence, the submission. It confirmed everything he believed about the natural order of the world."No?" He leaned back, grinning. "Nothing? Cat got your tongue?" He spread his arms wide, playing to his audience. "Come on, I'll make it easy. Simple question: Should I buy stocks or bonds right now? Surely even you can answer that."Felicia looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time in two years.And then she spoke:"Neither."Garrett blinked. "Excuse me?""You asked for my advice." Her voice was calm, steady. "You should sell.""Sell?" Garrett snorted. "Sell what?""Nexus Technologies. All of it. Before Tuesday."The table went quiet. Garrett had just told millions of CNBC viewers to buy Nexus. He'd staked his reputation on it. And now a waitress—this waitress—was telling him to sell.For a moment, he was too stunned to respond. Then his face hardened. "You have no idea what you're talking about."