He smiled.
“After all, not everyone can be Marilyn Monroe.”
And that was when María stood up.
Slowly. The sound of her chair scraping across the floor was like thunder in the silence. She picked up her champagne glass, held it for a moment, watching the bubbles rise. Then, with a casual, almost bored movement, she let it fall.
The crystal exploded against the marble.
Fragments glittered in the air. Absolute silence.
Weinstock stared at her, stunned. No one dared breathe.
María walked. Her heels echoed through the hall. Step by step, she approached the main table. She stopped in front of Weinstock and looked him directly in the eyes.
“Mr. Weinstock,” she said calmly, “I believe there is a misunderstanding.”
He tried to speak. María raised a hand.
“Shh. The adults are speaking.”
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