CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO. THE FALL OF THE TYRANT

The tension in the air was electric, thick and oppressive like a storm cloud ready to burst. The other guests, who had been observing the escalating situation with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, began to murmur amongst themselves, their voices tinged with both anticipation and judgment.

"Serves him right," one diner whispered, barely hiding a smirk. "He must be out of his mind to go up against someone like Mr. Smith."

"Foolish, really," another chimed in, shaking their head. "He’s asking for it. The manager’s going to toss him out on his ear, just wait and see."

The whispers grew louder, with some even casting pitying glances at Oliver, while others openly mocked him.

"He has no idea who he’s dealing with," one person commented with a sneer. "Smith’s a regular here, practically untouchable. That guy is done for."

Anita, sitting beside Oliver, could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She was visibly fidgeting, her fingers nervously tapping on the edge of the table. The thought