The moment his eyes fell on the dark red card, the balance of power flipped. He wasn’t looking at some naïve girl anymore, but at a senior-ranking official whose authority outranked his entire performance. The mocking grin vanished, replaced by a tremor in his voice and a desperate attempt to regain control by “calling his supervisor.”
Yet it was already too late. Colleagues arrived, not to rescue him, but to witness his downfall. His arrogance shrank into silence as he filled out reports under the same sun that had fueled his swagger minutes earlier. Liza didn’t gloat, didn’t raise her voice. She simply reclaimed her ID, closed her door, and drove away. Behind her, on that strip of highway, she left a torn license, a shattered ego, and a clear reminder: real power doesn’t need to shout.
