Chapter 5 - The Master of Harper's Table
At 10:45 AM, Greg Vance was standing near the cash register at Harper’s Table, admiring his reflection in the mirrored display behind the pie case.
Business was steady. A few regulars were already occupying the counter stools. In the kitchen, the cooks were prepping hash browns and slicing prime rib. Greg felt good. He had asserted his authority yesterday, reminded the staff who ran the kingdom, and scrubbed a troublemaker off his payroll.
The brass bell above the door chimed.
Greg turned with a customer-ready smile, but froze.
Walking through the doorway was the tall, imposing man who had dropped a hundred-dollar bill at table twelve yesterday afternoon. Beside him was the sharp-looking fellow with the silver tablet, followed by two men in dark suits carrying leather briefcases.
Greg’s smile faltered. There was an aura of suffocating power surrounding the group that sucked the air straight out of the room.
“Welcome back, gentlemen,” Greg said, stepping around the counter with a forced chuckle. “Table for four today?”
Ethan didn’t glance at the dining tables. He walked directly to the host stand, stopped two feet from Greg, and looked down at him.
“Are you Gregory Vance?” Ethan asked.
“Uh, yes. Like I told you yesterday, I’m the General Manager.”
“You were,” Ethan said.
Greg let out a sharp, nervous laugh. “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”
One of the men with the briefcases stepped forward, clicked the brass latches, and pulled out a stack of crisp, notarized legal documents.
“At 9:30 this morning,” the attorney announced in a voice that carried clearly across the dining room, “Calloway Acquisitions took full ownership of the real estate at 1412 West Grand. At 10:15, Mr. Harold Harper sold one hundred percent of Harper’s Table LLC to Mr. Ethan Calloway.”
The name hung in the air like a detonation.
Greg blanched. “Ethan... Calloway? As in Calloway Logistics? Calloway Real Estate?”
“The very same,” Nolan piped up with a cheerful grin. “And as sole owner of this property and business, Mr. Calloway has initiated a personnel audit.”
Greg’s eyes darted frantically between the paperwork and Ethan’s stone-cold expression. “Wait... Mr. Calloway, sir! I had no idea! If Harold had told me you were interested in franchising, I would have prepared a complete operational presentation! I run this restaurant like clockwork! Food costs are down twelve percent this quarter!”
“I know how you run it,” Ethan said. “I was sitting right there yesterday when you fired a woman for giving leftovers to an elderly veteran.”
Greg’s stomach plummeted through the floorboards. The blood rushed out of his face so fast he had to put a hand on the counter to steady himself.
“You... you bought this place... because of Marissa?” Greg stammered, his voice climbing an octave. “Sir, she was stealing! She was undermining my authority—”
“She was showing basic human decency,” Ethan interrupted, his voice dropping to a gravelly, lethal whisper. “Something you clearly regard as a liability.”
The kitchen door creaked open. Sarah the line cook and two dishwashers poked their heads out, listening in wide-eyed awe. Several regulars at the counter stopped their conversations, watching Greg crumble.
“Mr. Calloway, please,” Greg pleaded, his arrogance evaporating into pathetic groveling. “I’ve given five years to this place! I have a car note! I have rent!”
“Then I suggest you apply for unemployment,” Ethan replied smoothly. “Your employment with Harper’s Table is terminated immediately for gross misconduct and creating a hostile work environment. Furthermore, our legal team will be reviewing your past two years of bookkeeping. If so much as one penny is unaccounted for, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
The attorney handed Greg an envelope.
“You have five minutes to collect your personal belongings from the back office,” Ethan said, looking down at his watch. “After that, security will remove you for trespassing.”
Greg stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Tears of pure humiliation welled in his eyes as he looked around at the dining room. The cooks were smiling. The regulars were nodding. Nobody was on his side.
He spun on his heel and fled down the hallway toward the office.
Ethan turned to Nolan. “Where is she?”
Nolan tapped his tablet. “Her home address was in the personnel files Harold transferred over. She lives on West Division in Humboldt Park.”
May you like
Ethan straightened his tie. “Let’s go.”
***
