"This award has no monetary value attached. It's not tied to performance metrics." My voice was steady, even carrying a hint of warmth. "It simply represents the company's... appreciation for one employee's rather unique contributions."
Dean's spine went ramrod straight. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, impossible to suppress.
A look of smug certainty flashed in his eyes—I knew it.
He probably assumed the hundred thousand dollars and the car were just window dressing, and that this "special award" was the real prize prepared specifically for him.
Perhaps a check with an obscene number of zeros. Or something even more valuable—stock options, property deeds?
The audience seemed to share his speculation, their gazes ping-ponging between Dean and me.
I lifted my head, caught his eyes with precision, and smiled.
"Dean Gilbert. Assistant Gilbert."
I called his name.
In that instant, the anticipation on Dean's face peaked.
He drew a deep breath and smoothed the lapels of his midnight-blue velvet suit, trying to project an air of composure. But the eagerness and triumph in his eyes were practically spilling over.