"Philippa, who told you to come in here? Do you have any sense of propriety?"
I strode over and slammed the outrageous five-million-dollar claim down on his desk.
"Bertram Delgado, you'd better explain this to me."
I locked my eyes on his, searching for any shred of conscience still left in him.
"Bertram, put your hand on your heart and tell me the truth."
"When your funding chain collapsed, who was it that knelt before the Holy Mother's statue for three days and three nights to pray for your salvation?"
"Those billion-dollar contracts. Who was it that cast the holy cups and guided you to South Side to close those deals?"
"Now you're burning the bridge after crossing it, letting her steal my grandmother's life-saving money? Are you even human?"
Something flickered behind Bertram's eyes, a brief, guilty flinch. But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by cold entitlement.
"Philippa, could you please stop trying to disgust me with your little mystic act?"
"Those clients were won through the company's brand equity and our advanced management systems. You just happened to be there."