Chapter 99 Pride Before Shame
The private dining room was dimly lit.
A single lamp cast warm light across the table. The old man sat in a high-backed chair, his hands wrapped around a porcelain teacup. His face was lined with wrinkles. His white hair was thin and wispy. His clothes were simple: a faded jacket, a worn shirt, trousers that had seen better days.
Caspian stood across from him, his hands clasped behind his back. Xiomara stood slightly behind Caspian, her eyes fixed on the old man’s face.
"Grace," Caspian said. His voice was smooth. Persuasive. "I’ve been looking for you."
The old man blinked. His brow furrowed.
"I’m sorry," he said. "You must have the wrong person."
Caspian’s smile did not waver. "There’s no need to be modest. Dr. Harrison told me about you. Your work on SN1818. Your brilliance. Your anonymity."
The old man shook his head. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Xiomara stepped forward. Her voice was sharp. "There’s no point pretending. We know who you are."
"I’m not pretending," the old man said. "I’m telling you the truth."
Caspian pulled out a chair and sat down. He leaned forward. His elbows rested on the table.
"Let me be direct," he said. "I want to partner with you. My company has the resources. The connections. The manufacturing capacity. I can bring SN1818 to market faster than anyone else."
The old man stared at him.
"I don’t know what SN1818 is," he said.
Caspian’s smile tightened. "You don’t have to protect your identity with me. I’m not like the others. I understand the need for discretion."
"I’m not protecting anything. I’m telling you the truth."
Xiomara laughed. A short, dismissive sound.
"Fine. Play your game." She crossed her arms. "But before you decide, you should know something."
She paused.
"Your chosen partner, Xavier Lala, has a grudge against the Zed family."
Caspian leaned back. He watched the old man’s face.
"Xavier Lala," he said slowly, "is a liability. He’s been fighting the Zed family for years. Every contract he signs is contested. Every approval takes months longer than it should."
He paused.
"Partnering with him means inheriting his enemies. The Zed family won’t stop. They’ll block your formula. Delay your approvals. Starve your resources. They’ll bury you before you ever get off the ground."
The old man said nothing.
Xiomara stepped closer. "Professor Sterling told me everything. He said you would never choose Xavier if you knew the truth."
The old man looked at her.
"I think you’ve been misinformed," he said.
Xiomara’s composure cracked. Her voice rose.
"Stop pretending! We know you’re Grace. Dr. Harrison was just here. You’re the only person in this room."
The old man sighed. He set down his teacup.
"I’m not Grace," he said. "I don’t know who that is. I clean the restrooms. The VIP restrooms. That’s my job."
Caspian stared at him.
"You’re a janitor?"
"Yes."
Xiomara’s face went red. "You’re lying."
"I’m not."
Xiomara grabbed his collar. "Who are you?"
The old man did not flinch.
"My name is Harold Hudson," he said. "I’ve worked here for twelve years. I clean the toilets on the second floor. I’ve never met Dr. Harrison before tonight. He asked me to sit here while he finished a phone call."
A voice came from behind them.
"He’s telling the truth."
Xiomara spun around.
A waitress stood in the doorway. She wore a black uniform and a white apron. Her name tag read Sophie.
Xiomara’s hand dropped from the old man’s collar.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"My name is Sophie. I’ve worked here for three years." She looked at Xiomara, then at Caspian. "Mr. Hudson is our janitor. He’s been here longer than anyone else on the second floor. He’s not Grace or whatever you are calling him."
Caspian’s face went pale.
Xiomara’s voice cracked. "That’s not possible. He was sitting in Dr. Harrison’s private room."
"Dr. Harrison asked him to wait here. He said he needed someone to watch his briefcase while he took a call." Sophie paused. "I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. But Mr. Hudson is not Grace."
Caspian stood up. His chair scraped against the floor.
The old man, Harold Hudson, was still sitting at the table. His teacup was in his hands. His eyes were calm.
Xiomara’s face twisted. Humiliation. Fury. Disbelief.
"You tricked me," she said. Her voice was shaking.
Harold shook his head. "I tried to tell you. Many times."
"You could have said something sooner."
"I did say something. You didn’t listen."
Xiomara’s hand shot out. She shoved his shoulder.
The old man’s chair tipped. His teacup flew out of his hands. It shattered against the floor.
Harold Hudson stumbled. His arms flailed. He was about to hit the ground but Veyra caught him.
She had been standing in the doorway for two minutes. Watching and waiting everything.
When Xiomara shoved him, she moved.
Her gloved hands closed around his arm. She pulled him upright. Steady. Firm.
Harold blinked. His eyes were wide.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Veyra did not let go.
She turned to face Xiomara. Her voice was quiet.
"What do you think you’re doing?"
Xiomara’s face went white.
"Veyra." She spat the name. "Of course you’re here."
"Of course I’m here. I’m a guest."
"A guest?" Xiomara laughed. "You’re crashing an event. Using your bodyguard husband’s connections to—"
"To what? To keep an old man from being knocked to the ground by a woman who can’t admit she was wrong?"
Xiomara’s hands curled into fists. Her breathing was loud.
"He tricked us. He sat in that room pretending to be—"
"He was sitting in a chair. Drinking tea." Veyra’s voice was ice. "You cornered him. You questioned him. You accused him. He told you he wasn’t who you were looking for. You didn’t listen."
Xiomara opened her mouth to respond.
Veyra cut her off.
"Tell me something. If he were Grace—if he were the person you’re desperately trying to find—do you really think he would be sitting alone in a dim room, waiting to be discovered by two people who couldn’t even get past the front door without a borrowed VIP card?"
Xiomara’s face was red. Her hands were shaking.
"Who do you think you are?" she said. "You’re nobody. You’re a tag-along. A plus-one. You don’t belong here."
Veyra’s expression did not change.
"You just shoved an old man," she said. "You could have hurt him. You could have broken his hip. He’s been working here for years, and you shoved him because your pride couldn’t handle being wrong."
Xiomara stepped forward. "I’m warning you—"
"You’re warning me?" Veyra reached into her bag. She pulled out her phone. "I think you’re the one who should be warned."
She held up the phone. The screen glowed.
"I have a recording of everything that just happened. Every word. Every accusation. Every shove." She paused. "I can send this to the police. Right now. And I will."
Xiomara’s face went pale.
"You wouldn’t."
"Just try me."
Caspian stepped forward. His hand closed around Xiomara’s arm.
"Let’s go," he said.
Xiomara pulled away. "No. I’m not finished."
"You’re finished." His voice was tight. "We’re leaving.”