What kind of evidence do you want?
The café was the sort of place that catered to people who liked their privacy with their espresso: quiet, polished, discreet corners. In one of those corners a woman sat with her sunglasses on, turning her head now and then as if searching the room. Her posture was taut, like someone half-afraid of being seen.
She kept glancing around until she could no longer hold it in. “Did you manage to get her to meet? Is she actually coming today or not?” Irritation sharpened her voice — a rare break from her usual composure.
The others with her were dressed for anonymity too. One woman’s face was mostly hidden behind a white mask. Another, closer to the window, had been the first to complain, and now she scolded their companion in a low, impatient hiss. “Stop nagging. We’re the ones in the wrong here. Know your place.”
The rebuked woman fell silent for a moment, but soon worry pushed back through. She leaned forward, eyes bright with anxiety. “Do you think she’s going to stand us up on purpose? Play us for fools?”
The man across from them looked honest, almost guileless, but even he was sweating. He mopped the damp from his forehead and stammered, “I—I don’t know. I only messaged her because you told me to. She agreed then. She agreed—”
The woman who had been taunting him lost no time reining him in. “Is she doing this on purpose?” she sniffed. “Little celebs like her always know how to charm an audience. If she thinks she can ditch us—”
Her sentence was still hanging when the click of heels cut through the hush, followed by a clear, cool voice. “And what would you do, exactly?”
Everyone turned as one. The newcomer moved into the light with a casual, unhurried grace. It didn’t take long for the man to recognize her—he’d shared a live stream with her before—and the surprise on his face was obvious. “You—you came?”
Wen Yin sat down in the middle of the booth and tapped the table with one finger as she surveyed them without hurry. Her eyes wandered over each face, taking in everything. She had an easy air, almost lazy, but it made her presence sharper rather than softer.
“So, what are you going to do about that little incident?” the first woman demanded.
Wen Yin set her gaze on them and spoke with the same quiet clarity she used when she’d been on broadcasts. “Which incident do you mean?”
The question seemed to fray a nerve. The woman beside the man could no longer hold back. “You know what we mean. Don’t play dumb here.”
Wen Yin’s mouth curled into a faint, amused smile. She turned her attention to the man. “You know what I mean. Who are you trying to fool by pretending otherwise?”
Embarrassment colored his features. He was the one who’d been the first to apologize. “I know what we did was wrong. I apologize,” he said, standing and bowing as if to prove his sincerity.
The three women watched him with undisguised contempt. One of them, the quiet one who hadn’t spoken before, cut in. “How do we even know you’re talking about us? Sending off a lawyer’s letter with no proof—don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
She was certain Wen Yin had no evidence; she sounded confident enough to be dangerous. But Wen Yin didn’t flinch. She tapped the table again, deliberately slow. “And how do you know I don’t have proof?”
Her tone held no heat, only a measured challenge. “So tell me, Ms. Li”—she addressed the woman who’d been most belligerent—“what kind of proof would you like? Recordings? Video? Bank transfers showing the transactions?”
Each word landed heavy and direct. Faces around the table shifted, an almost audible intake of breath. The woman called Ms. Li sagged back onto the sofa, stunned. So this was what Wen Yin had in her hands—evidence that cut straight through whatever bluff the others had been relying on.
Wen Yin smiled, a small, disarming thing as she unzipped her bag. “If you want proof, I suppose I can be merciful.” She drew out a stack of photographs and let them fall onto the table in a scatter. The four of them reached for the pictures as if compelled.
With every photo they saw, their color drained. They exchanged glances—long, silent, and utterly defeated. There was no acting here; the images told the truth plainly, and nothing in their faces could cover it.
Wen Yin’s voice was almost conversational when she looked at Ms. Li. “Would you like me to show you anything else?”
She used the polite form, intentionally formal and cool. The effect was unmistakable; Ms. Li’s composure cracked visibly. “What do you want us to do?”
One by one, the defenses collapsed. The men and women who had walked in with sharp tongues and faster tempers suddenly sounded small. “This was our mistake. We’re sorry.” They sprang to their feet in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “We won’t do it again. Please—could you withdraw the appeal?”
Their apologies came out breathless, urgent, nearly supplicating. There was a tone of pleading in it, an attempt to bargain.
Wen Yin didn’t move to hand back the photos. She calmly gathered them up and slipped them back into her bag. “You’ve seen what I’ve got. I’m not withdrawing my appeal.”
They stared at her, panic spreading like ink. Whispers rose, frantic. Wen Yin turned, a smile that was almost both kind and cruel. “So you mean to protect whoever’s pulling your strings—no matter what? Even to your last breath?”
Her words had the effect she’d intended. The four who had come here confident and combative now looked at her with nothing but fear. Their eyes flicked between one another as if searching for a door that suddenly wasn’t there.