Chapter 9 - The European Blueprint
Six months later.
The private jet glided smoothly through the blue skies above the French Alps, heading toward Paris.
Inside the luxurious cabin, Evelyn sat at a wide mahogany desk covered in blueprints, menu mockups, and financial spreadsheets. She wore an elegant charcoal suit, her dark hair pinned up in a chic French twist.
Across the desk sat John, reviewing a dossier for their first European acquisition: a historic 19th-century chateau in the Loire Valley that was being converted into Scott Hospitality’s European flagship.
"The local French critics are already sharpening their knives," Evelyn noted, flipping through a French culinary journal. "They're calling us 'American corporate invaders' who don't understand the sanctity of regional terroir."
John looked up from his papers, a confident, relaxed smirk playing on his lips. "Let them sharpen their knives. We have a secret weapon."
"Oh, really?" Evelyn teased, raising an eyebrow. "And what is that?"
"A Quality Control Director who can spot a fake truffle from twenty yards away," John said, standing up and walking around the desk.
He slid into the leather bench seat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. Evelyn rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart.
Over the past six months, they had become an unstoppable force in the hospitality industry. Together, they had overhauled seven of Scott Hospitality’s luxury properties, firing corrupt vendors, elevating local talent, and earning two new Michelin stars for their flagship dining rooms.
"Are you nervous about Paris?" John asked softly, kissing the top of her head.
"A little," Evelyn admitted, looking out the oval window at the snow-capped mountains below. "Six months ago, I was counting pennies to buy groceries at Aldi. Now I'm heading to Paris to tell French chefs how to roast duck."
"You belong here, Evelyn," John said firmly, lifting her chin with his finger so she had to look him in the eye. "You earned every inch of this sky."
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Her phone buzzed on the desk. It was a picture text from her brother Caleb. He was standing in front of his new culinary supply shop in Chicago—a business he had opened with a micro-loan arranged by John’s foundation. He was holding a sign that read: Thanks, Sis. Proud of you.
Evelyn smiled through a mist of happy tears.
