Chapter 7 - The Restaurant He Tried to Sell
For ten years, Miller's Table had been the center of my life.
I knew every corridor.
Every storage shelf.
Every temperamental refrigerator.
Every burner that needed a little extra attention before service.
I knew which employees had young children.
Which cooks were studying at night.
Which servers depended on double shifts to pay their rent.
So when Dad told me Brian was removing equipment from the kitchen, I didn't think about the machines first.
I thought about the people standing nearby.
"Dad, who's supervising the removal?"
"Brian, apparently."
"Does he have a qualified technician?"
"One of the drivers says they're a general moving crew."
I closed my eyes.
The thermal systems weren't ordinary furniture.
Disconnecting them without following safety procedures could damage the kitchen's electrical and ventilation connections.
"Tell your technician not to let anyone dismantle the equipment until it's made safe."
"Already done."
I checked the time.
I had less than two hours before my practical demonstration at Grand Plaza.
Driving across Baltimore would risk losing the opportunity I'd worked so hard to secure.
For a moment, the old reflex returned.
Drop everything.
Run to Brian's restaurant.
Solve his problem.
Protect his reputation.
I stood still.
Then I realized what I was doing.
Even after the divorce, I was preparing to abandon my future to manage his latest disaster.
"Dad, can you handle the equipment?"
"With our attorneys and technicians, yes."
"Then please do. I need to finish this interview."
His response came immediately.
"That's exactly what you should do."
I took a shaky breath.
"Thank you."
After ending the call, I contacted Darlene Reed.
Darlene was forty-six and had worked at Miller's Table for seven years.
She was the head chef.
Direct.
Practical.
And one of the few people who understood how much work I'd contributed.
She answered with kitchen noise roaring behind her.
"Samantha?"
"Darlene, are you all right?"
She gave a bitter laugh.
"Depends on your definition."
"What's happening?"
"Your ex-husband has lost his mind."
I leaned against the wall.
"Tell me."
"Two men arrived with a moving truck. Brian ordered them to disconnect the main thermal stations."
"During preparation?"
"During preparation."
I stared at the ceiling.
"Please tell me the units are shut down."
"I shut down the affected stations and cleared the area. Your father's technician arrived before they disconnected anything."
Relief washed through me.
"Good."
"But Brian is furious."
"Of course he is."
Darlene lowered her voice.
"He says he's selling the restaurant and the buyer wants to relocate certain equipment."
"Equipment he doesn't own."
"I figured that out when your father's technician showed me the lease registrations."
I exhaled.
"Did Brian stop?"
"Not willingly. The crew refused to proceed after they learned ownership was disputed and the manufacturer wouldn't authorize the work."
I closed my eyes.
At least nobody had been injured.
Then Darlene said:
"Samantha, something else is wrong."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Brian told the staff that you were trying to bankrupt the restaurant."
I felt a familiar ache.
"He said that?"
"He said you've become unstable since the divorce and that you're attacking the business because you're jealous."
I gripped the phone.
Of course.
He couldn't explain why he was trying to sell leased equipment.
So he blamed me.
"Did anyone believe him?"
Darlene was quiet.
"Some of the newer employees don't know you well. They're frightened."
"Frightened of what?"
"Losing their jobs."
That landed harder than Brian's insults.
I knew those employees.
Their paychecks mattered.
I remembered a young dishwasher named Mateo who sent money to his mother every month.
A pastry assistant named Grace who was raising two children alone.
A server named Elijah who was saving for nursing school.
They had trusted us to provide stable work.
Brian's behavior threatened more than his pride.
"Darlene, please document what's happening. Don't take unnecessary risks or confront him alone."
"Already taking photographs."
"And don't touch anything he claims belongs to him until the lawyers sort it out."
She gave a humorless laugh.
"You sound like yourself again."
"What does that mean?"
"The Samantha I remember could run a kitchen without raising her voice. You used to fix things before anyone else understood there was a problem."
I swallowed.
"That woman got tired."
"I know."
A pause.
"But I'm glad she's back."
After the call, I sat in a quiet hotel lounge and reviewed my presentation notes.
I tried to focus on the afternoon demonstration.
But another thought kept returning.
Brian wasn't acting like a man preparing for a profitable sale.
He was acting like a man desperate to complete a transaction before somebody examined the paperwork.
At 12:40 p.m., Darlene called again.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Sam, I found something."
"What?"
"Brian went upstairs to argue with the buyer. His office door was open."
My stomach tightened.
"Darlene, don't go through his private files."
"I didn't have to. He left a folder on the preparation counter and told me to put it in the safe."
"What folder?"
"Eastbridge acquisition documents."
I sat upright.
"What's in them?"
"A list of everything he's promising to transfer."
I glanced toward the hotel's conference room.
"Does it include Dad's equipment?"
"Yes. And your menu-development materials."
I closed my eyes.
Then Darlene said:
"There's something worse."
"What?"
"A separate instruction sheet. It says Beatrice expects you at the birthday dinner tonight."
"I know."
"No, Samantha. You don't understand."
Her breathing quickened.
"The instructions aren't about the food."
A cold sensation moved through my chest.
"What are they about?"
Darlene hesitated.
"There's a second agreement. They're supposed to place it in front of you after the guests arrive."
I stopped breathing.
"Why?"
"Because Brian thinks you'll be too embarrassed to refuse in front of thirty people."
I stared at the phone.
The dinner.
The threats.
The sudden insistence that I return to the Miller mansion.
It hadn't just been about needing a cook.
Brian wanted an audience.
May you like
He wanted to surround me with his family and friends until I surrendered.
And Beatrice had agreed to help him.
