For a moment, he stared.
Then he grabbed the folder.
He opened it.
Turned several pages.
And stopped.
The color drained from his face.
Because the signature at the bottom of that page was supposed to belong to a woman who had died eighteen months earlier.
And Nia Brooks was her daughter.
Three hours before the dinner, Nia had been standing in the restaurant's staff changing room, fastening the final gold clasp on her red qipao.
The room was small compared with the dining suites upstairs.
Metal lockers lined one wall.
A long mirror stood above a narrow counter.
And the air smelled faintly of laundry detergent, perfume, and the coffee someone had spilled near the entrance.
Her colleague, a twenty-six-year-old server named Sofia Martinez, watched her from a wooden bench.
"You're quiet tonight."
Nia adjusted her collar.
"Just thinking."
Sofia smiled.
"About the VIP dinner?"
"Among other things."
Her friend leaned forward.
"I heard the guy upstairs is worth six billion dollars."
Nia continued adjusting her sleeve.
"Something like that."
Sofia laughed.
"Imagine having so much money you don't even know what to spend it on."
Nia smiled faintly.
"I can think of a few things."
"Such as?"
"Paying people fairly."
Sofia laughed.
"That's why you'll never become a billionaire."
Nia looked toward the mirror.
Her expression softened.
"Maybe."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Sofia noticed the black document folder resting beneath Nia's folded service notes.
She frowned.
"What's that?"
Nia glanced down.
"Something I need to deliver."
"To the dinner?"
"Yes."
Sofia studied her.
"You're acting mysterious."
Nia smiled.
"I know."
Her friend crossed her arms.
"Are you in trouble?"
For a moment, Nia looked genuinely touched.
She turned toward Sofia.
"No."
Then she paused.
"Not exactly."
Sofia frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Nia took a breath.
"It means there's something I need to finish tonight."
Her friend looked toward the folder.
Then back at her.
For several seconds, she seemed uncertain whether to ask more.
Finally, she stood.
"Well, whatever it is, don't let those rich guys talk down to you."
Nia smiled.
"I'll try."
Sofia reached for the door.
Then looked back.
"And if anybody gives you trouble, you call me."
Nia laughed softly.
"You're five feet three."
Sofia grinned.
"And very loud."
They both laughed.
But after Sofia left, Nia's smile faded.
She looked toward the black folder.
Then opened it one last time.
Inside was a certified copy of an acquisition consent document, several supporting notices, and a letter prepared by an independent law firm.