Arthur took a slow, deep breath, remaining completely unbothered by her venomous tone. He gestured calmly toward the brushed-brass digital terminal mounted beside the private elevator entrance.

"Ma'am, this entire floor is locked off for a private walkthrough," Arthur explained, his voice low, clear, and steady. "I have the master access code on my tablet. If you check with the front desk, you’ll see that the 68th floor is strictly off-limits to all external showings until 6:00 PM."

Karen’s face flushed a blotchy, furious crimson. She thrust her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose with a single manicured nail, glaring at Arthur with small, enraged eyes.

"Listen to me, you arrogant little technician!" Karen barked, her shrill voice echoing off the double-height concrete ceilings. "I am a high-priority prospective buyer! My husband is the senior managing partner at the largest equity firm in this city! We are looking to buy a trophy asset today, and I am not waiting on the schedule of a blue-collar worker in a fake designer sweater!"

The sweating junior agent, Lucas, stepped forward frantically, wringing his hands. "Mrs. Miller, please... the system did flag a private reservation for this time—"

"Shut up, Lucas!" Karen screamed, turning her wrath onto the terrified agent. "You work for me today! Tell this useless maintenance guy to clear his trash off my marble island and get out of my sight!"

Arthur didn't move an inch. "I'm not leaving, ma'am. You and your agent need to take the elevator back down to the sales lounge."

Karen’s eyes widened in pure, unadulterated shock. The fact that a man in jeans and a sweater refused to cower before her seemed to shatter whatever sanity she had left.

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" Karen shrieked, taking three aggressive steps forward into Arthur's personal space.

Directly beside them stood a custom, illuminated pedestalled display table. Sitting atop it was a one-of-a-kind, hand-blown crystal and glass architectural model of The Pinnacle Tower, crafted by master artisans in Milan and valued at over $20,000.

In a fit of blind, childish rage, Karen lunged out and violently swiped her heavy designer handbag across the display pedestal.

CRASH!

The heavy glass model slid off the pedestal and shattered onto the pristine Italian travertine floor with a deafening explosion of splintering crystal and gold leaf. Shards of glass ricocheted across the polished stone, scratching the hand-finished marble base.

Lucas gasped, turning deathly pale and clutching his head in utter horror.

Instead of showing an ounce of remorse, Karen instantly dropped to her knees, threw both hands over her face, and began shrieking at the top of her lungs, her shrill screams echoing through the entire penthouse.

"HELP! POLICE! ASSAULT!" Karen bellowed, squeezing out fake, breathless sobs. "HE SHOVED ME! THIS UNHINGED WORKER ATTACKED ME AND DESTROYED THE RESORT MODEL TO COVER IT UP! LUCAS, CALL THE GENERAL MANAGER RIGHT NOW! HE TRIED TO TOUCH ME!"