" What do you think about our economics?"
James nearly spat his water out across the table.
His boss—a sharp-eyed, stiff-collared man in an expensive navy-blue suit—paused mid-bite and blinked at the five-year-old girl standing beside her booster seat, arms crossed, face solemn.
"...I beg your pardon?" he asked, unsure if he'd just been pranked by a toddler.
Mia leaned forward, resting her tiny hands on the table like she meant business. "I said: what do you think of today's politics and stock markets? Because personally, I think the economic response to the recent inflation has been underwhelming, and I'm not convinced the new policies are sustainable."
James turned bright red. "Mia, sweetie—"
"No, Daddy," she said, raising a hand like a tiny CEO. "This is important."
Rose stifled a laugh behind her napkin.
James's boss cleared his throat. "Well... I suppose the inflation rates have indeed been—uh—concerning."
Mia nodded. "Exactly. And the international response has been too fragmented. If we want market stability, we need cohesion and long-term strategy, not panic policies."
James's mouth hung open.
"Also," Mia added, very seriously, "the way they're handling the energy sector? Horrible. We need more innovation, not more oil."
The boss blinked slowly. "She... she's five?"
"Five and a half," Mia corrected proudly. "I read The Junior Economist Weekly."
There was a long silence.
Then the boss set down his fork and folded his hands. "Miss Mia... what do you think of the housing market?"
Mia's eyes lit up. "Don't even get me started." She climbed into her seat like a professional stepping onto a podium. "So first of all..."
James groaned and slid under the table.
Rose grinned and whispered, "Told you she was the brains of the family."
