"The special bowl requested for your final serving has been prepared separately."
He studied her.
Then asked, "Do you know what kind of bowl it is?"
She hesitated.
"I haven't examined it closely yet."
The billionaire smiled without warmth.
"Of course not."
Naomi remained composed.
He leaned back.
"Most people who serve Japanese tea in America know nothing about the tradition."
One of the executives laughed politely.
Naomi lowered her eyes briefly.
She understood that the chairman's statement wasn't entirely about her. He was expressing frustration with an industry that sometimes used cultural traditions as expensive decoration.
But the way he spoke made it clear that he considered her part of the problem.
He asked where she learned Japanese tea service.
Naomi answered honestly.
"Some of my training was in Japan, sir."
The billionaire raised an eyebrow.
"Japan?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Osaka and the surrounding region."
He laughed softly.
"Tourist classes?"
Naomi took a breath.
"No, sir."
The younger executive smiled.
"Uncle, you're interrogating the staff."
The billionaire waved one hand.
"I'm curious."
But his tone suggested something else.
He wanted the people around him to see how easily he could expose what he believed was an exaggerated claim.
Naomi recognized the pattern.
She had experienced it before.
A customer questioned her knowledge.
Then treated each answer as another opportunity to dismiss her.
She continued serving without arguing.
But she noticed the nephew watching her more closely than the chairman did.
The antique tea bowl arrived on a black lacquered tray.
It was beautiful.
Its surface was a deep cream color with a slightly irregular shape, and a subtle pattern of dark glaze crossed one side.
The bowl had been kept in the restaurant's secure collection for special occasions.
Its owner had loaned it specifically for the evening.
Naomi recognized the style immediately.
It resembled pieces she'd studied with Mrs. Morita.
Not identical.
But closely related to the kind of handmade bowl prized for its imperfections and individuality.
The elderly tea master who supervised the evening service carried it personally.
He was seventy-four, Japanese, and had spent decades studying traditional tea preparation. His silver hair was neatly combed, his hands moved with practiced care, and he rarely spoke unless a question required an answer.
Naomi respected him deeply.
He was one of the few people at the restaurant who knew the extent of her experience in Japan.
He had tested her knowledge when she was hired.
Then spent several months helping her adapt traditional techniques to the practical requirements of serving large numbers of guests in a commercial setting.
As he passed her the tray, he murmured something in Japanese.
Naomi nodded.
He looked toward the chairman.
Then toward the younger executive.
For a moment, concern crossed his face.