Viktor chuckled, a genuine sound this time. He ate with fervor, ignoring the shocked glances of the other diners. For ten minutes, the phone on the table did not exist. The merger did not exist. “You are not just a waitress, are you?” Viktor asked between bites, switching back to Hungarian to keep their conversation private. “You stand too straight. You look people in the eye. And your accent, it’s educated. But you try to hide it.” Livia poured him the vodka he had asked for earlier. “I was a student. Linguistics and international relations at Oxford. But scholarships don’t cover sick parents. My mother got cancer two years ago. I dropped out. I work three jobs to pay the debts she left behind.” Viktor paused, his spoon hovering. He looked at her with a new kind of respect. In his world, people fought for power. Livia was fighting for survival. That was a language he understood better than any other. Debt was not an abstraction to either of them. It was a clock.
He was still eating when the East Wing doors opened again. Two men in wet coats crossed the marble as if they owned the building. The taller one was Arthur Pendleton, the face Livia recognized from the financial pages, the man whose name had been in the muted call. Beside him walked a lawyer with a thin smile and a briefcase that did not belong in a dining room. They did not wait to be seated. They sat. Pendleton spoke English first, smooth and public, then dropped into Hungarian the moment he thought the waitress was only a waitress. Livia stayed at the side of the table with the salt cellar and listened. They were not there to eat. They were there to tell Viktor the courier would never arrive, that the grandfather’s signatures were already in their hands, and that the Apex contract carried a liquidation clause aimed at his personal assets. His mother’s house. The old land. The part of the empire that was not a company at all.
Viktor’s spoon stopped. Livia set the salt down and, in the same rural dialect, very quietly, told him what they had just said about the personal assets, because they had said it as if she were furniture. Pendleton’s smile cracked when he realized the waitress had understood every word. Viktor looked at him, and the exhaustion left his face. “The deal is off,” he said. “And tell the board I am calling an emergency shareholder meeting. I’m initiating the poison-pill defense myself. If I go down, I take the stock price with me. Let’s see how your investors like that.” It was a bluff, a dangerous, high-stakes poker play, but Viktor delivered it with the conviction of a king. Pendleton stared at him, hatred radiating from his pores. He grabbed his briefcase. “This isn’t over, Molnar. You have twenty minutes before the vote. You can’t stop it.” “Watch me,” Viktor said. Pendleton and the lawyer stormed out of the restaurant, leaving a trail of wet footprints and angry murmurs.
The restaurant was silent again. Viktor turned to Livia. The adrenaline was fading, and the reality of the situation was setting in. “That was dramatic,” Viktor said in English, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I’m sorry about the tablecloth,” Livia said, her voice shaking now that the danger had passed. “Livia,” Viktor said, his voice serious. “You understood what they said. About the personal assets.” “I did,” she replied in Hungarian. “You risked your job to warn me.” “I couldn’t let them do that to you. It wasn’t fair.” Viktor looked at his watch. “I have eighteen minutes. I need to get to a secure line. My phone is compromised. They knew about the courier, which means they are tracking my digital footprint. I cannot call the board from my mobile.” He looked around the restaurant. “Does this place have a landline? A fax machine? Something old-school that cannot be hacked?” “The office,” Livia said immediately. “In the basement. Preston has a secure line for credit-card authorizations. It’s an old copper-wire system.” “Take me there,” Viktor commanded. “Now.” “I can’t,” Livia said. “I’m on shift. Preston will—” “Livia.” Viktor grabbed her hand. It was the first time he had touched her. His grip was warm and desperate. “I am not asking you as a customer. I am asking you as a man who is about to lose everything. Help me.”