Eleanor asked, not looking up from her work.
“Table one?” Kevin squeaked. “That man, Mr. Sterling, he’s demanding the general manager. And he’s demanding you, personally. He says you stole his credit card.”
Eleanor dropped the fork. It clattered loudly on the metal table.
“He what?”
“He’s screaming out there,” Kevin said, his eyes wide with horror. “He says he left his Black Card on the table when he went to the restroom, and now it’s gone.”
“He says you were the only one who approached the table. He’s calling the police, Eleanor.”
Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. It was a lie. A vile, petty, calculated lie from a bruised ego.
Gavin knew he couldn’t get her fired just for correcting his French. That would make him look weak and foolish. But theft? Theft from a VIP client was the end of everything. It meant a criminal record, a permanent stain on her reputation.
Theft meant being blacklisted from the service industry. And if she lost her job, her father would be evicted from the care facility within a week for non-payment. Gavin wasn’t just trying to humiliate her anymore. He was trying to destroy her.
“Where’s Henderson?” Eleanor asked, sharply untying her apron.
“He’s out there, trying to calm him down. But Sterling isn’t listening. He’s making a huge scene, everyone’s recording it on their phones.”
Eleanor closed her eyes for a second. She took a deep breath. She thought of her father’s face. The way he looked at her, unable to find the words after the stroke. He had taught her to be strong. He had taught her that the truth was the only thing that mattered.
She couldn’t hide in the kitchen like a criminal. If she hid, she would look guilty.
“Alright,” Eleanor said. Her voice was surprisingly firm and calm.
She smoothed her hair. She straightened her blouse.
She picked up her apron and tied it again, this time tighter, like a fighter’s belt before a match. This was her armor.
“I’m going out there,” she said.
She pushed through the swinging doors, leaving the steam and noise of the kitchen behind, and stepped back into the cool, treacherous air of the dining room.
The scene was worse than she could have imagined. Gavin Sterling was standing in the middle of the restaurant, as if on a stage. His face was twisted in a mask of righteous indignation. He was jabbing a finger into the chest of Mr. Henderson, who looked like he was about to faint.
Julia sat at the table, her head in her hands, looking ready to sink through the floor from shame.
“I want her arrested immediately!” Gavin bellowed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.
“I leave my Centurion card on the table for two minutes, and the help decides to give herself a bonus! This place is a den of thieves! I’ll have this restaurant shut down, I’ll ruin all of you!”
He spotted Eleanor emerging from the kitchen. A predatory, triumphant smirk flashed across his face. He pointed his manicured finger directly at her.
“There she is!” Gavin shouted. “The thief! Search her! I bet the card is in her pocket right now.”
Every eye in the restaurant turned to Eleanor. The wealthy patrons, the staff. Phones were raised, recording the drama for social media. Eleanor walked forward through the gauntlet of stares. She didn’t look at the phones. She didn’t look at the pale-faced Henderson.
She looked directly into Gavin’s eyes. She stopped about five feet away from him, maintaining her distance.
“I did not take your card, Mr. Sterling,” Eleanor said, her voice calm and clear. “And you know it.”
“Oh, I know it?” Gavin let out a harsh, ugly laugh. “You’re a broke waitress. You’re desperate. I saw your pathetic shoes. I saw you eyeing my watch.”
“You people are all the same. You think the world owes you something because you failed at life.” He took a step closer, invading her personal space. “Empty your pockets. Now.”
“Or I call the cops, and they can search you here or in the back of a squad car. Your choice, sweetheart.”
A dead silence fell over the room. This was the edge of the cliff. If she emptied her pockets, she would be submitting to his power.
If she refused, the police would come, and all hell would break loose. But Gavin had made a fatal mistake. In his boundless arrogance, he had forgotten one crucial variable. He assumed that because Eleanor was a waitress, she was a nobody with no one to stand up for her.
He assumed that in this room of money and connections, only his voice mattered. He was wrong. At a corner table, table four, which sat in the shadows, a chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. The silver-haired gentleman who had been reading a newspaper slowly stood up.
He was an older man, perhaps in his late 60s, wearing a tweed jacket that looked old but incredibly expensive. He had been nursing a single glass of cognac for an hour, silently observing everything. He started walking toward the confrontation.
He didn’t walk with Gavin’s aggressive swagger; he moved with the slow, deliberate authority of a man who owned the ground he walked on.
“That’s enough, Mr. Sterling,” the man said. His voice was low and calm, but it had a core of steel.
Gavin spun around, annoyed by the interruption.
“And who are you? Mind your own business, old man. This is between me and the thief.”
The older man stopped. He looked at Gavin with an expression of profound boredom and mild disgust.
Then he looked at Eleanor. He gave her a slight, respectful nod.
“I believe,” the man said, turning back to Gavin, “that you are mistaken. I also believe that if you were to check the inside breast pocket of your jacket, the left one, which you patted nervously when you first stood up to start this disgraceful performance, you will find your card.”
Gavin froze, his hand instinctively twitching toward his chest. He fought the urge to check.
“You’re a crazy old man,” Gavin sneered, but a note of uncertainty had crept into his voice. “I didn’t put it in my pocket. I remember leaving it on the table.”
“Check,” the older man said. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command.
Gavin hesitated. The mood in the room was shifting. The phone cameras were now all pointed at him. With a grimace of annoyance, he plunged his hand into his left inside pocket, purely to prove the old man wrong. His face suddenly went slack and pale. He slowly pulled out his hand.
Between his fingers was a black credit card. A collective gasp went through the room.
“Ah,” the older man said dryly. “A miracle. It seems the laws of physics were suspended just long enough to teleport the card from the table into your pocket.”
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