Chapter 3: The Confrontation at Table Four
Before Greg could reply, the heavy scent of expensive, metallic perfume filled the air. The woman in black had arrived at Lily's section.
She stopped directly in front of Table Four, her shadow falling over the gingham tablecloth. She looked down at Lily, her gray eyes narrowing into slits. "You're the server for this section," the woman stated, her tone an unyielding command. "Have you seen a child? A dirty, disobedient little girl?"
Lily stood tall, refusing to break under the woman's oppressive gaze. She placed her hands behind her back, hiding the slight tremor in her fingers. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I haven't seen any children back here. This section has been mostly corporate parties all afternoon. If you'd like to leave your name and number at the front, we can call you if a child wanders in."
The woman in black stepped closer, her expensive leather heels clicking loudly against the hardwood. She leaned in, her cold breath washing over Lily's face. "Don't lie to me, girl. I tracked her footprints from the treeline directly to the back entrance of this establishment. I know she's here."
Without warning, the woman reached down, her claw-like hand grasping the edge of the tablecloth at Table Four, preparing to rip it away and expose Maya.
"Stop!" Lily said loudly, her voice echoing across the immediate dining room, drawing the attention of several nearby tables. She stepped directly between the woman and the table, physically blocking her path. "You cannot touch the property or harass our guests, ma'am. I'm going to have to ask you to leave the restaurant immediately, or my manager will escort you out."
The woman in black let out a cold, bitter laugh. "Your manager? You think a low-wage restaurant worker can stand in my way? Do you have any idea who I am? I own the estate across the ridge. I buy and sell people like you for breakfast."
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"I don't care who you are," Lily delivered a quiet, savage reality check, her unshakeable confidence completely shocking the woman. "In this restaurant, you are just a trespasser threatening a child. And in the United States, we call the authorities for that."
The woman's face contorted into an ugly mask of rage. She reached into her black designer handbag, her hand wrapping around something heavy and metallic. "Step aside, girl. Now."
