But not enough, according to the person who supplied it, to cause lasting harm.
That assurance was false.
The younger man didn't know how dangerous the substance might be.
He also didn't know that the CFO had discussed a much darker contingency with another participant.
For months, the nephew had convinced himself he was trying to prevent the collapse of his financial life.
Now, sitting beside his uncle, he was preparing to interfere with the man's drink.
Even before the act, he felt sick.
His palms were damp.
His breathing was shallow.
And he kept glancing toward the chairman.
The older man had raised him after his father died.
Paid his tuition.
Helped him through early business mistakes.
And introduced him proudly as the next generation of the family.
For one brief moment, the nephew almost stopped.
Then he remembered the lenders.
The approaching audit.
And the possibility that everything he'd concealed would become public.
He looked toward the CFO.
The older executive gave the smallest possible nod.
The nephew made his decision.
Naomi was adjusting a serving tray when she saw the movement.
The nephew leaned forward as though reaching for a napkin.
His cuff shifted.
A small transparent object appeared near his fingers.
For a moment, Naomi thought it was a travel-size medicine container.
Then she saw his hand move over the chairman's bowl.
The motion was brief.
Almost invisible behind the man's shoulder.
But Naomi was standing at an angle that gave her a clear view.
Something entered the matcha.
She froze.
For one second, she wondered whether she'd misunderstood.
Perhaps the executive was adding something with the chairman's permission.
Perhaps there was an explanation connected to the tea service.
But the man's expression troubled her.
He looked toward the doorway.
Then toward the tea master.
And quickly withdrew his hand.
Naomi knew enough about professional food service to recognize that no guest should introduce an unidentified substance into someone else's drink without that person's knowledge.
Her heart began racing.
She glanced toward the chairman.
He was laughing at a remark from one of the executives.
The tea master had turned toward the serving station.
Nobody else appeared to have noticed.
Naomi wanted to interrupt immediately.
But she hesitated.
The chairman had already been treating her with contempt.
If she accused his nephew of tampering with his tea without evidence, she could lose her job.
The nephew might deny everything.
The executives might insist she'd misunderstood the movement.
And the restaurant might be accused of embarrassing an important customer.
Then she looked toward the bowl.
The chairman was reaching for it.
Naomi felt her stomach tighten.
She remembered Mrs. Morita's voice.
Care begins before someone lifts the cup.
She stepped forward.
"Sir, please wait."