Chapter 2 - THE FALL OF DAVID KESLER
The kitchen went dead silent.
The hum of the walk-in refrigerator sounded deafening.
David Kesler blinked once.
Then twice.
He looked at the three armed men in black suits standing by the service door.
Then his eyes settled back on Roman.
Color drained entirely from David’s face.
His immaculate chef’s coat suddenly looked two sizes too big.
“Mr... Mr. Roman,” David stammered, his voice cracking upward.
“I didn't know you were visiting the kitchen tonight.”
Roman didn't look at him.
His pale gray eyes remained fixed on the final paycheck lying on the checkered linoleum floor.
Slowly, Roman stepped forward.
His polished leather shoes clicked against the tiles.
He bent down.
He picked up the envelope.
Then he straightened, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space between the prep tables.
“Who fired her?” Roman repeated.
His voice was quiet.
It didn't roar.
It didn't shake.
It carried the chilling, absolute stillness before a winter storm.
David swallowed hard, beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead.
“She... she was forty-five minutes late, sir,” David bumbled, gesturing wildly toward me.
“She walked in covered in blood. We have standards here. Laura isn't a shelter.”
Roman turned his head slowly toward David.
“Laura is a restaurant,” Roman said, his voice dropping an octave.
“A restaurant built on property leased from my holding company.”
David’s knees buckled slightly.
“Sir—?”
“In fact,” Roman continued, stepping closer to my terrified former manager.
“I own the building.”
“I own the land beneath it.”
“And if I choose to terminate your lease within the next ten seconds, you and your precious French bistro will cease to exist before midnight.”
David clutched the edge of the stainless steel counter to keep from falling.
“Mr. Roman, please,” David whispered, panic flooding his eyes.
“It was a misunderstanding. She can keep her job. She can have a raise.”
Roman looked down at the envelope in his hand.
Then he looked at me.
His expression softened just a fraction.
“She’s not keeping her job here, David.”
David let out a fragile, desperate sigh of relief.
May you like
“Pack your knives,” Roman finished coldly.
“You’re the one who’s fired.”
