He leaned back in his chair, smirk forming slowly, like a man bored enough to entertain himself with whatever was closest.
“Well,” he said loudly, drawing attention. “Looks like we’ve got a guest.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
Rosa’s stomach tightened. She lowered her head.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said quietly. “I can leave early if—”
“Sit tight,” the billionaire interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “We’re almost done. Besides…” He glanced at the boy again. “This could be fun.”
Fun.
He stood and walked toward a steel safe built into the wall. It was massive. Industrial. The kind designed to survive fires, floods, maybe even wars.
“You see this?” he said, patting it. “Worth more than most homes. Triple-locked. Custom-made.”
The men watched, amused.
Then he turned back to the boy.
“Tell you what,” the billionaire said, clapping his hands. “I’ll give you one hundred million dollars if you can open it.”
The room burst into laughter.
Not nervous laughter. Not uncomfortable laughter.
The kind that comes when cruelty feels consequence-free.
Rosa felt her face burn. She tightened her grip on the mop, wishing the floor would swallow her whole.
She stepped forward. “Please,” she whispered. “He’s just a child. We’ll go.”
One of the partners chuckled. “Relax. It’s a joke.”
Another added, “Kid should learn early how the world works.”
The billionaire shrugged. “Exactly.”
The boy hadn’t laughed.
He hadn’t moved.
He stood quietly, eyes on the safe—not with awe, not with fear, but with something closer to curiosity.
Then he stepped forward.
