And I had, quietly, with one signature, removed it.

Chapter 12 — Declined

Wendy’s arrogance, which I had watched preside over my own dining room for years, came apart in real time at that Miami table.

“The house — never mind the house,” she said, grasping.

“What about the travel card, Luca?

The suite?

The hotel bill?”

And right on cue, as though the universe had a sense of timing, the restaurant manager appeared at their table, flanked by two hotel security officers.