Eleanor: You little thief!
Maya: Please, stop!
Eleanor: I said let go of my bag!
Maya: It is not your bag.
Eleanor shoved the young girl hard by the shoulders, sending her crashing onto the polished marble floor.
Eleanor: Someone call the police right now.
Bystander: Oh my goodness, did she just hit that child?
Eleanor: She is a criminal. She just tried to snatch this from my table.
Maya: I did not!
Maya scrambled backward, her small hands gripping the crushed silver fabric of the designer clutch.
Eleanor: Give it to me before I have you arrested.
Maya: You can't take this from me.
Eleanor: I am Eleanor Vance. My husband owns this hotel.
Maya: Your late husband.
Eleanor froze, the heavy diamond necklaces around her throat glittering under the ornate lobby chandeliers.
Eleanor: What did you just say to me?
Maya: Mr. Vance passed away yesterday.
Eleanor: How do you know that?
Maya: Because I was there when it happened.
A loud gasp rippled through the crowd of men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns.
Eleanor: You are lying. You are a filthy little street rat.
Maya: I have the documents to prove it.
Eleanor: The only thing you have is stolen property.
Maya: I didn't steal it. It was given to me.
Eleanor: By who?
Maya: By the man you claim to love.
Eleanor lunged forward again, her manicured claws digging into the silver fabric as they wrestled over the small bag.
Eleanor: Security! Get this trash out of my sight!
Maya: Let go!
Eleanor: Open the bag and show everyone what you stole.
Maya: You don't want me to do that.
Eleanor: Open it!
Maya yanked the zipper hard, letting the contents spill onto the cold marble floor for everyone to see.