Chapter 3 - The Lockout
The order echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a thunderclap.
“Mr. Calder, please!” Greg gasped, clutching his hands together in desperate supplication. “It was a misunderstanding! I didn't know he was your father! He didn't say who he was when he walked in!”
“He shouldn't have had to say who he was,” Nathaniel said coldly, lowering his phone.
Within sixty seconds, security guards stationed at the building's entrance began ushering out the remaining patrons. Diners who had been enjoying four-hundred-dollar steaks were politely but firmly informed that their meals were on the house, but they needed to vacate the premises immediately. The heavy mahogany doors were locked from the inside, and the brass 'Open' sign was flipped to 'Closed'.
The bright overhead chandeliers were dimmed, casting long, solemn shadows across the cavernous room.
Only a few people remained standing near table twelve: Nathaniel Calder, his father William, floor manager Greg, Vanessa Price, and me.
Vanessa was trembling now, her arrogant posture completely destroyed. She took a timid step forward, trying to catch Nathaniel’s eye.
“Mr. Calder,” Vanessa said, her voice shaking violently. “I... I am Vanessa Price. My father is Arthur Price, your senior vice president of operations. I was merely trying to secure a table for my husband’s business meeting... I had no idea this gentleman was associated with you...”
Nathaniel turned his dark gaze upon her. It was like watching a predator analyze an insect.
“So if he weren't my father,” Nathaniel said, his voice dangerously smooth, “you believe it would have been acceptable to strip him of his dignity and throw him into the rain?”
“No! That’s not what I meant!” Vanessa stuttered, her face flushed with panic. “I just... this is a high-end restaurant! There are standards of presentation!”
“My father built those standards,” Nathaniel replied coldly. “He built them on hospitality, respect, and good food for anyone who walked through the door with honest money in their hands. You seem to have forgotten that, Mrs. Price. And it appears your father has failed to teach you basic human decency.”
Nathaniel looked at Greg.
“Greg, is it?”
“Y-yes, Mr. Calder,” Greg squeaked, sweating profusely through his crisp collar.
“You suspended Miss Carter for doing her job,” Nathaniel noted, gesturing to the folded apron on the counter. “You punished an employee for upholding the foundational principles of this company to appease an arrogant patron.”
“I... I was protecting the business, sir!” Greg pleaded, his voice breaking. “Mrs. Price threatened to make trouble through her father’s office! I was trying to avoid a floor disturbance!”
“You didn't protect the business,” William Calder spoke up from his chair, his voice quiet but echoing clearly in the silent room. “You showed me that under your management, a poor man's eighteen dollars isn't worth the same as a rich man's twelve thousand. That isn't hospitality, son. That's prostitution.”
Greg lowered his head, tears of panic finally breaking through his eyes.
Nathaniel turned his attention back to me. His steel-grey eyes softened slightly as he took in my worn work shoes, my neat but faded uniform, and the quiet dignity with which I stood my ground.
“Miss Carter,” Nathaniel said gently. “How long have you worked at The Meridian Room?”
“Eighteen months, Mr. Calder,” I answered softly.
“And what is your current salary?”
“Nineteen dollars an hour, plus floor tips.”
Nathaniel nodded slowly. He looked at his father, who gave him a brief, knowing nod in return.
“Greg,” Nathaniel said, turning back to the weeping manager. “You are terminated effective immediately. Pack your personal belongings from the office and hand your keys to floor security before you leave the building.”
“Mr. Calder, please! I have a family!” Greg begged, taking a step toward him.
“So do my employees,” Nathaniel replied without an ounce of pity. “Security will escort you out.”
Two bulky security guards stepped forward from the foyer, catching Greg by his arms and leading him away down the service corridor. His faint pleas echoed off the walls until a heavy service door clicked shut.
Then, Nathaniel looked at Vanessa Price.
“As for you, Mrs. Price,” Nathaniel said coldly. “Tell your father I will be expecting him in my office at seven o'clock tomorrow morning. He will be explaining to me why his daughter feels entitled to treat my staff like dirt under her boots. If he fails to give me a satisfactory explanation, his executive contract will be reviewed.”
Vanessa gasped, covering her mouth in terror. She looked at me with a mix of hatred and pure dread, then turned on her heels and ran out the side exit of the restaurant, her high heels clattering wildly against the stone floor.
Silence settled over the dark dining room.
May you like
Nathaniel walked over to table twelve, pulled out a chair next to his father, and sat down. He looked up at me, his expression calm and unreadable.
“Miss Carter,” Nathaniel said. “Please, sit down.”
