"I asked for your senior staff."
The owner immediately stepped closer. "Sir, Maya is one of our best."
"I didn't ask for one of your best." His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. "I asked for someone capable of handling international guests."
The owner shifted awkwardly. "Maya is perfectly capable."
Charles looked at her again. This time slower. Longer. Like he was evaluating merchandise. "We'll see."
The conversation at nearby tables continued, but several people were already paying attention.
Maya kept her expression professional. "What can I get started for you this evening, sir?"
Mr. Liang smiled politely. Before he could answer, Charles interrupted: "Do you speak Chinese?"
The question seemed random. Maya simply said, "What would you like to drink tonight?"
A small laugh escaped Charles. Not a pleasant one—a dismissive one. "You didn't answer the question."
"I speak English fluently, sir."
Charles leaned back. "That's not what I asked."
A few heads turned. Margaret glanced at her husband. Raymond stared into his water glass. The Chinese guests remained silent.
Maya maintained her composure. "What can I bring for the table?"
Charles shook his head. "Incredible." Then he laughed louder. "These days, everybody pretends they're qualified."
The room seemed slightly quieter now. Not silent, but watchful. Maya could feel it. She had felt it before: the moment when a person decided who she was before learning anything about her; the moment assumptions became facts; the moment respect vanished. She had lived through those moments her entire life.
Charles picked up the wine list. "Tell me something." His smile widened. "If I handed you a Chinese menu right now, could you read even one line?"
Maya said nothing. A few nearby diners exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Margaret shifted in her chair. "Charles..."
But he wasn't finished. "You know what? Never mind."