The exhaustion of returning home after midnight.
And the night a powerful man decided her ability to speak Spanish would make amusing entertainment.
She reached the dining room.
The doors opened.
And Inés Valcárcel stood to greet her.
“Elena!”
The investor smiled warmly.
“Welcome.”
Elena embraced her.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Inés drew back.
“You're here because the institute wanted you.”
Elena smiled.
“I know.”
Then she looked around.
Several guests were already seated.
Beatriz Silva waved from the far side of the table.
Javier Montes stood and offered his hand.
Professor Ibarra was speaking with a representative of an agricultural cooperative from Colombia.
And near the window stood Antoine Delcourt.
Elena stopped.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Antoine approached.
He looked older than he had during their first encounter.
The months of scrutiny, negotiations, and changes inside his company had clearly worn on him.
But he greeted her without the old smirk.
“Miss Marković.”
Elena nodded.
“Monsieur Delcourt.”
He smiled faintly.
“Congratulations on your fellowship.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
Then gestured toward the table.
“I understand you're one of tonight's speakers.”
“Yes.”
Antoine nodded.
“I look forward to hearing your analysis.”
For a moment, Elena studied him.
Then she smiled.
“I hope you'll ask difficult questions.”
His expression changed.
Then he laughed.
Not mockingly.
With genuine amusement.
“I suspect you can handle them.”
Elena smiled.
“I'll do my best.”
They exchanged a brief handshake.
Then moved toward their places.
This time, Elena wasn't standing beside the table waiting for instructions.
She was seated among the guests.
Not because she'd become wealthy.
Not because Antoine had paid the wager.
And not because someone had finally decided to be generous.
She was there because the institute had evaluated her work and invited her to contribute.
When dinner began, a young waitress approached Elena's chair.
She appeared to be in her early twenties, with dark skin, neatly braided hair, and an expression Elena recognized immediately.
Professional.
Careful.
Slightly nervous.
“Would you prefer sparkling or still water, madame?”
Elena smiled.
“Still, please.”
The waitress poured it.
Then glanced toward Elena again.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Elena noticed.
“Is something wrong?”
The young woman blushed.
“No, madame.”
She looked toward the guests.
Then leaned closer.
“I recognized you.”
Elena blinked.
“From the video?”
The waitress nodded.
“My sister showed it to me.”
Elena laughed softly.
“Ah.”
The woman smiled shyly.
“I'm studying engineering.”