Chapter 2The $5 Wonton

I frowned.

I remembered Jessica asking for it, saying her mom’s birthday was coming up and she wanted to get her something nice. She said her mom worked so hard running a small restaurant. I sympathized, so I bought her the $300,000 emerald bracelet.

To make it special, I had a master engraver carve her mother's initials on the inside.

I remembered the letters: "S.Z.Y."

The owner’s call didn't go through. She glared at me.

“My daughter is busy right now. You just wait. You better start thinking about how you’re going to pay for this!”

I ignored her, stepped forward, and grabbed her wrist to see the inside of the bracelet.

She shoved me off. “Don’t you touch my bracelet with your filthy hands! This was a gift from my son-in-law!”

“Do you know how much this cost? $300,000! You could sell yourself and not afford it!”

What a coincidence. Also $300,000?

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

She looked at my uniform and sneered. “None of your business. Even if I told you, my daughter would never look at a broke loser like you.”

Me? Broke? I had to laugh. That was a first.

Our argument had drawn a crowd. People were filming, some were even live-streaming.

The owner saw her audience and immediately burst into tears, wailing.

“Everyone, look! This young man is attacking a 60-year-old woman! He smashed my store, and now he’s trying to rob me! He tried to steal my bracelet! Is there any justice in the world?”

The crowd started murmuring.

“Kid, what’s wrong with you? Attacking an old lady?”

“Young people are so impulsive. Just smashing things up. I’d never hire someone like that…”

I was done arguing. I just looked at the owner. “Fine. How much for the damages? I’ll pay.”

Her tears vanished. A smug smile spread across her face. She started counting on her fingers.

“This is a solid rosewood table. That’s $8,000.”

“The bowl was high-grade porcelain. That’s $200.”

“The vinegar, chili oil, and napkins… $30.”

“And all the toppings you wasted at the bar... let’s call it $500.”

“Total: $8,730. How do you want to pay?”

I frowned. “That table is 'solid wood'? I flipped it with one hand. I run a 10-minute mile and you think I'm Hercules?”

She crossed her arms. “I don't care. You owe me at least $8,000!”

“And I haven’t even added my mental distress! If you can’t pay, you can go to jail!”

A regular customer at a nearby table finally spoke up. “Come on, Susan. That table isn’t worth that much. He’s just a kid working a summer job. Don't be so hard on him.”

The owner turned on him, spitting fire. “Are you blind? I’m the victim here! If you feel so sorry for him, you pay for it!”

She turned back to me. “If you really can’t pay, that’s fine. Get on your knees, kowtow three times, and apologize. I’ll forgive you. My son-in-law is rich. I don’t need the money.”

I didn’t say anything. I just pulled out my phone.

Someone in the crowd whispered, “Kid, just apologize. It’s not worth it.”

I shook my head and smiled calmly. “No need.”

“$8,000? That’s not enough.”

“I’ll give you three million. I’m buying this restaurant.”