Chapter 3 - The Conversation
Richard Sterling looked down at the child standing before him.
The entire ballroom had fallen into an eerie, heavy silence.
The orchestra had stopped playing.
The security guards stood a few feet away, waiting for Richard’s signal to remove her.
Richard felt a strange sensation in his chest.
Initially, he assumed she was a publicity stunt.
Perhaps she was a representative from one of the orphanages his foundation funded.
Perhaps her parents had sent her to beg for a personal favor.
He had seen many desperate tactics over the years.
But as he looked closer, he realized she didn't look desperate.
She looked calm.
Unusually, strangely calm for an eight-year-old facing a room of hostile, wealthy adults.
Richard, wanting to maintain his public image of benevolence, forced a polite smile.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.
"Hello there," he said, his voice deep and smooth.
The little girl looked up, meeting his gaze directly.
Her eyes were a striking, deep blue.
They were incredibly beautiful, yet filled with a profound, quiet sadness.
She did not flinch under his powerful gaze.
Then, she spoke. Her voice was small, but it carried clearly in the silent room.
"Sir, may I sit here for a moment?"
A collective gasp echoed from the neighboring tables.
The guests looked absolutely shocked.
Nobody spoke to Richard Sterling that casually.
He was a man who required appointments months in advance just for a five-minute phone call.
The mayor looked ready to call the police himself.
But Richard did something that surprised everyone in the room.
The coldness in his chest seemed to crack slightly at the sound of her voice.
He stood up, bypassed the security guard, and pulled out the empty velvet chair next to him.
"Of course you can," Richard said softly.
The little girl walked over and climbed onto the large chair.
She looked tiny against the plush red velvet.
A few reporters near the edge of the VIP section quietly lifted their smartphones.
They began recording.
They knew a sensational story was unfolding right in front of them.
Richard leaned closer to the girl, ignoring the hundreds of staring eyes.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Emily," she replied, her voice steady.
"Well, Emily, what brings you here tonight? Where are your parents?"
Emily looked down at the sealed white envelope in her small, pale hands.
She squeezed it gently.
"My mother told me to give this to the man with white hair."
Richard chuckled, though the sound was slightly hollow.
He gestured to his own silver-white hair.
"That sounds like a very important mission."
"It is," Emily said seriously.
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The polite, practiced smile slowly disappeared from Richard's face.
The air in the room suddenly felt very cold.
