Maya's stomach growled audibly, reminding everyone why she was there in the first place. "I'll play anyone," she said. "But could I eat first? I haven't had anything since yesterday morning."
The casual admission of her hunger seemed to make some of the crowd uncomfortable.
Eleanor Whitmore stepped forward. "Of course you should eat first, dear. Richard, have them set a proper table for her."
"She can eat in the kitchen with the staff," Margaret suggested quickly. "We needn't make a spectacle of this."
"No," Richard said firmly, surprising everyone, including himself. "She won her meal fairly. She'll eat in the dining room like any other victor."
As Maya was led toward the dining room, she heard the conversations exploding behind her: arguments, debates, accusations, and wonder, all mixing together in a chaos of privileged voices trying to make sense of what they'd just witnessed. Charles Hoffman was insisting it had to be some kind of trick or scam. Victoria Peyton was already on her phone trying to look up if there were any news stories about chess-playing homeless children. Margaret was demanding that Richard reconsider, warning about the precedent this would set.
But Harrison Vale stood quietly by the abandoned chessboard, resetting the pieces and playing through Maya's attacking sequence again. Each move revealed new layers of sophistication, subtle positional advantages that accumulated into an overwhelming attack. This was no fluke, no lucky accident.
In the dining room, Maya sat at a table with a white tablecloth, real silver cutlery, and a crystal glass filled with water. When the plate arrived—roasted chicken with vegetables and potatoes, still steaming—she had to blink back tears. It was more food than she usually saw in a week.
She ate slowly, savoring each bite, aware that staff members were peering at her from doorways. She used the utensils correctly, another skill Grandma Rose had insisted on teaching her. Just because we're poor doesn't mean we're ignorant, her grandmother had said. You carry yourself with dignity, always.
Through the dining room's glass doors, she could see the members still arguing in the main hall. Some were leaving in disgust, while others seemed energized by the evening's unexpected turn. She noticed Harrison Vale had acquired a notebook and was analyzing the game, occasionally shaking his head in apparent admiration.
"Excuse me, miss." A young waiter appeared at her elbow. "Mr. Vale asks if you'd be willing to play another game when you're finished eating. He says..." The waiter paused, seemingly embarrassed. "He says he'll make it worth your while."
Maya took another bite of chicken, chewing thoughtfully. She could see the trap here: they wanted to prove that Ted's loss was a fluke. But she could also see opportunity. These people had money, resources, connections. If she played this right, she might secure more than just one meal.
"Tell Mr. Vale I'll play him," she said finally. "But I want to set new terms."
The waiter blinked in surprise. "New terms?"