"They always say it's just paperwork."
The farmer sighed.
Naomi looked toward them.
"What does it mean?"
Mrs. Morita smiled sadly.
"It means we need to read carefully before agreeing."
She placed the paper on the table.
Then added something Naomi would never forget.
"A mountain can look empty to a person counting money. It looks very different to someone whose family has lived below it for a hundred years."
Naomi left Japan when she was twenty.
Her mother's appointment ended, and they returned to Atlanta.
For a while, Naomi considered studying cultural preservation.
Instead, she pursued food science and hospitality management, drawn by the combination of careful preparation, safety, and the human relationships surrounding food.
She completed her studies while working part-time.
Then moved to New York for a job with a luxury hotel group.
Her career initially progressed well.
She worked in guest services.
Helped coordinate international events.
And eventually joined a team responsible for food-service operations and staff training.
But after several years, the company reorganized.
Her position was eliminated.
Around the same time, her mother developed a chronic illness that required frequent treatment and support.
Naomi returned to Atlanta temporarily.
She helped with appointments.
Managed household responsibilities.
And spent savings she'd intended to use for graduate school.
When her mother's condition stabilized, Naomi returned to New York.
But she didn't immediately find another management position.
The available jobs required schedules that conflicted with her continuing family responsibilities.
And after months without dependable income, she accepted a position at Kintsugi House.
The work was demanding.
But it paid her bills.
And she enjoyed the precision of traditional service.
She never believed that being a waitress made her less intelligent or less deserving of respect.
Yet she knew many customers saw only the uniform.
That included Kenji Takamura.
At seven-fifteen, the billionaire arrived.
His security team entered first.
Two men inspected the private dining room, checked the adjoining corridor, and spoke quietly with the restaurant's security director.
Then the chairman appeared.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, an expensive watch, and an expression of permanent impatience.
His silver-gray hair was neatly combed.
His face was distinguished but severe.
And his eyes moved around the room as though searching for flaws.
Behind him walked his executive vice president.
The younger man was tall, handsome, and impeccably dressed in a navy-blue suit.
He had spent almost fifteen years working inside the family's corporate empire.
Many employees expected him to become the next chief executive.
He was also the billionaire's nephew.
His father, the chairman's younger brother, had died when he was a teenager.
The billionaire helped raise him afterward.
He paid for his education.
Introduced him to the family business.