Rafael glanced at Bella, noticing the quiet intelligence in her eyes. There was something unsettling about the way she observed the world, as if she were assembling it like a jigsaw puzzle only she could see. He lifted his voice with effortless authority.
“Bella. Come here.”
Teresa flinched. “Mr. Cortez, please. She does not want trouble.”
“I did not ask if she wanted trouble,” Rafael answered. The words sliced like a knife. “I asked her to come here.”
Bella approached, her hands shaking around the rag. When she stood before him, Rafael reached into his blazer and produced a checkbook. He tore a page, scribbled a number, and held it between two fingers.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” he said. “This can be yours if you prove me wrong.”
Levi raised his eyebrows. “What is she supposed to do? Make the chair fly?”
Rafael leaned forward. The courtyard hushed.
“Make me walk,” he said.
A ripple of disbelief shot through the group. Gerard burst into laughter first, followed by Mason’s theatrical guffaw. Even Silas, usually quiet, smirked like he had witnessed a performance.
Teresa gasped. “Please, sir. She cannot. We are not charlatans. We clean rooms. We do not make miracles.”