Sweetie, step away from the head of the table. The adults are presenting tonight

“Mrs. Whitaker,” Hayashi said gently, never breaking eye contact with me, “before we begin — Dr. Castellano, are you joining the presentation, or observing?” The table went silent. Vivienne’s smile cracked at the edges. “Dr. who? That’s just Daniel’s wife. She works in… retail, or something.” I set down my water glass. “Inventory analytics, actually. For the last nine years.” I stood, smoothed my cheap blazer, and walked to the head of the table. “Mr. Hayashi and I have already met. Twice last quarter, in Osaka.” Daniel’s mouth fell open. Vivienne’s folder slid an inch toward her chest, like she could hide behind it. Hayashi finally smiled. “Dr. Castellano restructured our North American supply chain. Her models saved my company forty-one million dollars. When Daniel mentioned the Whitaker pitch, I agreed to the meeting as a courtesy — to her.” I turned to Vivienne, whose foundation had gone an interesting shade of gray. “You spent six months telling Daniel I was dragging him down. You told the country club I was a cashier. You seated me at the kids’ table at Thanksgiving.” I slid her glossy folder, untouched, back across the linen. “I read your proposal last week when Daniel cried in our kitchen. The projections are inflated by thirty percent. The patent you’re citing expired in 2019. If Mr. Hayashi had signed this, he would have lost everything by spring.” I opened my own slim portfolio and placed it in front of Hayashi. “This is the version that actually works. Daniel’s engineering is brilliant — it just needed someone who could read a balance sheet.” Hayashi signed before dessert. Daniel signed divorce papers from his mother’s financial control by Monday. And Vivienne? She got the check at the end of the night. I made sure of it. “The adults,” I told her softly, “are leaving now.”