Her health was more stable now, though she still tired easily.
When Naomi explained what happened, the older woman became quiet.
For a long moment, she didn't speak.
Then asked the question Naomi needed most.
"Are you safe?"
Naomi began crying again.
"Yes."
"Are you hurt?"
"Just a small scrape."
Her mother exhaled.
"All right."
For several seconds, the line remained quiet.
Then Naomi whispered.
"Mom, I slapped a tea bowl out of a billionaire's hand."
Her mother paused.
Then answered.
"That is certainly not a sentence I expected to hear tonight."
Despite everything, Naomi laughed.
Her mother smiled through the phone.
Then became serious.
"Tell me what you saw."
Naomi explained carefully.
The nephew.
The vial.
The movement over the tea.
And the chairman lifting the bowl.
Her mother listened without interrupting.
When Naomi finished, the older woman asked whether she'd preserved her statement and contact information for the investigators.
Naomi said yes.
Then her mother took a breath.
"You might have saved that man's life."
Naomi looked down.
"I don't know."
"Neither do I."
Her mother paused.
"But you saw something concerning, and you acted because you believed someone was in danger."
Naomi wiped her eyes.
Then whispered.
"He treated me like I was stupid."
Her mother's voice softened.
"I know."
"He laughed at me."
"I know."
"And after I stopped him, he still assumed I was the problem."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then her mother said quietly.
"His arrogance doesn't determine whether your observations were correct."
Naomi closed her eyes.
She remembered being eleven years old in Osaka.
The difficulty of learning the language.
The stares.
And her mother's insistence that other people's assumptions didn't define her.
For a moment, she felt like that little girl again.
Then she took a deep breath.
"Thank you, Mom."
Her mother smiled.
"Get some rest."
Naomi nodded.
"I will."
But sleep didn't come easily.
The next morning, the first rumor appeared online.
A financial gossip account claimed that a waitress at an exclusive Manhattan restaurant had assaulted a Japanese billionaire during a private business dinner.
The report described an expensive tea bowl being smashed.
It mentioned an argument about Japanese-language proficiency.
And it suggested that the waitress became angry after being embarrassed.
It said nothing about the vial.
Nothing about the allegation of tampering.
And nothing about the fact that the chairman had agreed to a medical evaluation because an unidentified substance might have entered his drink.
Naomi read the post while sitting on the edge of her bed.
Her stomach tightened.
By lunchtime, several larger accounts had repeated the story.
Some commenters mocked her.
Others praised her for standing up to a rude customer, even though they didn't know why she'd struck the bowl.