Arrogant Billionaire Asks Waitress for Financial Advice to Mock Her — What She Says Stuns Him
Chapter 8
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Garrett spread his arms triumphantly. "See? Nothing! You're full of—"He never finished the sentence.Garrett's confidence swelled. The stock was fine. The screen proved it. This waitress had just embarrassed herself in front of everyone who mattered."As I was saying," he continued, louder now, playing to the room, "this is what happens when people who don't belong try to pretend they understand things beyond their station."He stood up, buttoning his jacket, preparing to deliver the killing blow."Let me explain something about the real financial world, sweetheart," he gestured expansively. "I've made more money before breakfast than you'll make in your entire life. I've advised presidents. I've moved markets. I've built an empire." He stepped closer to Felicia, towering over her. "And you? You move plates. You refill water glasses. You exist to serve people like me. That's the natural order of things. That's how the world works. And no amount of Googling financial terms in your sad little apartment is going to change that."A few nervous chuckles from the room, but fewer than before. Something had shifted. Garrett didn't notice."So here's my advice to you," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Go back to the kitchen, finish your shift, and never embarrass yourself like this again."Felicia didn't move. "Are you done?" she asked.Garrett blinked. "Excuse me?""I asked if you're done. Because I have a few more things to say."The room held its breath."Where did you go to school?" Garrett demanded. "Community college? Online degree? Let me guess: you watched some YouTube videos about investing and now you think you're Warren Buffett.""Columbia," Felicia said quietly. "MBA, class of 2019. Top 5%."Silence."Bullshit," Garrett said."Call them."Before Garrett could respond, a voice came from across the restaurant:"She's not lying."Harold Brennan rose slowly from his corner table. His presence immediately commanded attention; there was something about his bearing that signaled authority."Who the hell are you?" Garrett snapped."Harold Brennan. Former chair of the finance department at NYU Stern. Consultant to the Federal Reserve from 2008 to 2015." He walked toward Garrett's table with measured steps. "I've trained hundreds of analysts in my career. I can count on one hand the number who truly understood markets at an intuitive level." He stopped beside Felicia. "She's one of them."Murmurs rippled through the restaurant. People recognized the name. Harold Brennan was legendary in financial circles.Garrett's face twisted. "I don't care if she has a PhD from Harvard! One degree doesn't mean she knows anything about my business!""You're right," Felicia said. "So let me tell you about your business specifically."She pulled out another sheet of paper."You've appeared on CNBC 17 times in the past year to promote Nexus Technologies. Each appearance, the stock jumps. And each time, within 48 hours, Whitmore Capital sells shares." She held up the paper. "March 15th: CNBC appearance, stock jumps 4%. March 17th: Whitmore Capital sells 200,000 shares. April 3rd: another appearance, stock jumps 3%. April 5th: another 150,000 shares sold." She looked at him. "The pattern repeats seven times. That's not analysis, Mr. Whitmore. That's pump and dump."