Slowly, with stiff, jerky movements, Takahashi lowered his right hand. He slipped his matcha-stained thumb beneath the black pocket flap and drew out the heavy, octagonal rose-gold Patek Philippe.
The watch caught the warm light of the lanterns, gleaming against his trembling fingers.
“How extraordinary,” Takahashi said, his voice a hollow, raspy croak as he forced the corners of his mouth into a brittle grimace. “The clasp... the spring on the clasp has been loose all week. When I reached into my pocket for a handkerchief after returning from the washroom, it must have unhooked from my wrist and slipped straight inside without my noticing.”
Nobody said a word.
Daniel Brooks rested his forearms on the edge of the table, looking directly at the gold timepiece. “And when your watch accidentally unhooked itself and fell into your pocket, Mr. Takahashi, did it also whisper to your secretary in Japanese that you put it there to frame our server?”
“I told you, my words to Kenji were completely misinterpreted!” Takahashi snapped, though the authority in his voice had collapsed into shrill desperation. He shoved the gold watch back onto his left wrist without fastening the clasp and glared at Richard Vance. “An unfortunate mistake has been cleared up! The watch is found! Nobody is calling the police! Now, if we are quite finished with this absurd distraction, let us return to business—”
“She did not misinterpret a single syllable, Chairman.”
The quiet voice came from the corner of the room.
Everyone turned toward Kenji Sato.
The thirty-five-year-old secretary was no longer hunching his shoulders or staring at the parquet floor. He stood upright beside the bamboo screen. His face was still pale, and a bead of sweat traced the edge of his jaw, but his hands were steady as he lifted the slim black leather briefcase and walked three paces forward to the walnut table.
“Kenji!” Takahashi hissed, stepping toward him with his hand raised in warning. “Stop right there! Remember who pays your salary! Remember who holds your contract in Tokyo!”
Kenji stopped beside Daniel Brooks’s chair and looked straight at his employer.
“I remember very clearly, sir,” Kenji said in careful, distinct English. “And I also just watched how quickly you tried to destroy an innocent woman’s livelihood in front of five witnesses simply to buy yourself forty-eight hours. When Mr. Vance’s auditors arrive in Osaka next week and discover the double mortgages on the port warehouses, you will not think twice before telling the Tokyo prosecutors that I falsified the disclosure schedules without your knowledge.”
Takahashi’s lips parted, no sound coming out.
Before the older man could lunge across the table, Kenji unlatched the brass locks on the leather briefcase. He reached inside, pulled out a thick cream-colored folder bound with red silk cord, and laid it flat on the walnut surface directly in front of Richard Vance.
Then Kenji turned toward Maya.
Placing both hands flat against the sides of his trousers, the young Japanese secretary bowed from the waist at a full ninety-degree angle—the deepest posture of formal contrition and respect in Japanese life—and held it for five long seconds.
“Hontou ni moushiwake arimasen deshita,” Kenji said softly to the floor before rising and repeating the words in English so every man at the table could hear. “I am deeply ashamed that I remained silent when he accused you. Every word you translated to these gentlemen was the complete truth. He took the watch off under the table right after Mr. Vance turned to Clause Fourteen.”
Maya looked at the young man’s bowed head, the last tightness in her shoulders finally melting away. She gave him a small, respectful nod.
“Thank you for telling the truth, Mr. Sato,” Maya said quietly.
At the head of the table, Richard Vance opened the cream-colored folder from Tokyo. He couldn’t read the dense rows of Japanese kanji, so he looked up at Maya and slid the file three inches toward her side of the table.
“Miss... what is your last name?” Richard asked.
“Carter, sir. Maya Carter.”
“Miss Carter,” Richard said, gesturing toward the open file, “if you wouldn’t mind, please tell me what I’m looking at on page three of Chairman Takahashi’s internal ledger.”
“Do not let her touch my proprietary corporate documents!” Takahashi shouted, reaching across the table to snatch the cream folder back.