The air in the room thickened—not just with cigar smoke, but with condescension. Jeffrey let the insult hang for a beat, watching their smirks, the exchanged glances, the way they assessed him like a stray dog who had wandered into the wrong neighborhood.
He had expected skepticism. But outright mockery?
Adjusting his cuffs, he let the silence stretch just a little longer than was comfortable. Then, with measured ease, he met the chairman's gaze. "Grifting?" he repeated, his tone smooth, almost amused. "Interesting choice of words. But I suppose when a man walks in wearing a suit that fits, you assume he must have stolen it."
A few chuckles rippled through the room, low and knowing.
"Not stolen… Gifted? What's that they call it these days? Sugar mommy?" the vice chairman quipped, sending the room into laughter.
