A Taiwanese Millionaire Shamed a Waitress During a $2 Million Deal — Then She Answered in Mandarin

At least three people at the table depended on his approval to complete the deal.

I did not.

But he didn't know that yet.

Or perhaps he knew more than he was willing to admit.

He pointed his finger directly toward my face.

“I asked for a properly trained server!”

I kept my expression composed.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Don't interrupt me.”

I lowered my gaze toward the table.

“I apologize if I interrupted your conversation.”

He leaned backward.

Then laughed.

“Do you even understand what we've been discussing?”

I didn't answer immediately.

One of the younger executives shifted uncomfortably.

Across the table sat Chen Yu-han, a thirty-two-year-old Taiwanese engineer whose small technology company was supposed to receive the investment.

She looked pale.

Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around her teacup that I worried the porcelain might crack.

Beside her sat Victor Hsu, the chairman's thirty-six-year-old son and chief strategy officer. He wore a dark designer suit and a subtle expression of amusement.

He had been watching me ever since I entered the dining room.

The chairman looked toward his guests.

“See? She doesn't even know what we're saying.”

A few people gave nervous smiles.

I stood quietly.

My notebook felt unusually heavy in my hands.

Then Chairman Hsu switched into Mandarin.

「現在的服務生真有意思，連兩百萬美元的生意都想插嘴。」

Waiters these days are unbelievable. They even think they can interrupt a two-million-dollar deal.

Victor chuckled.

I understood every word.

The chairman continued in Mandarin, speaking more quickly now.