But the self-styled socialite wasn't done with me. She pressed on, relentless:
"Mike Finch, there's a limit to how much you can bullshit. My husband booked this Emperor Suite with his VIP membership. What does that have to do with you?"
"Look at yourself—delivery boy outfit, loafers. If you weren't riding our coattails, would you even be allowed in a place this upscale?"
Her words drew a wave of laughter. The looks people shot me now carried open contempt.
I waved it off, a cold smile playing at my lips.
"So what you're saying is... I should be grateful to be here with you people?"
Alberta scoffed and gestured at the spread on the table.
"Obviously."
"Without me, could you afford this abalone? This lobster? This Moutai?"
I lifted my head slowly, the corner of my mouth curling upward.
"Alberta, you really haven't seen much of the world, have you?"
"This meal? At my house, this is what we feed the help. I wouldn't touch it."
The room burst into another round of mockery.
"Mike, I'm begging you to stop embarrassing yourself. You're bottom-tier—without Alberta, you couldn't even get through the front door!"