Chapter 4 - The Manager’s Wrath
Panic is a dangerous thing, especially in men who have everything to lose. Trent knew exactly how Victor, the current CEO of L’Élégance, operated. Victor was ruthless, unforgiving, and deeply paranoid about his grip on the company. If Trent called Victor and told him that Arthur Pendelton was sitting in chair number four, Victor wouldn't just fire Trent—he would destroy his career in the industry forever.
"No," Trent whispered, his hands curling into fists. "No, this is a trick. Arthur Pendelton is dead. You're just some crazy old man who found a piece of paper."
Trent lunged forward, reaching out to grab the dirt-smudged envelope resting on the marble counter.
"Don't touch that!" Leo shouted, stepping forcefully between the manager and the old man. Leo was young, athletic, and entirely done being bullied by corporate management. He shoved Trent back by the shoulders.
"You put your hands on me?!" Trent shrieked, spit flying from his lips. "You're fired, Leo! You're done! And I am tearing up whatever fake garbage document that old freak brought in!"
The salon was dead silent. Every stylist had stopped working. The affluent clients sitting in chairs with foils in their hair watched with wide eyes, treating the explosive drama like a live theater performance. Several phones were already out, recording the altercation.
Arthur slowly stood up from the barber chair. He didn't move like an old, broken man anymore. He stood perfectly straight, smoothing down the lapels of his torn, filthy coat as if it were a bespoke Armani suit.
"You will not touch the boy, and you will not touch my property," Arthur said. The sheer gravity of his voice made Trent freeze in his tracks. "Victor stole my legacy. He forged my signature on a transfer of power while my wife was dying in a hospital bed. He left me with nothing but a legal loophole that he thought I would never survive long enough to exploit."
Arthur stepped toward Trent. The manager physically cowered, stepping backward until his back hit a styling station.
"But I did survive," Arthur continued, his eyes burning with twenty years of suppressed fury. "I lived in the shadows. I watched Victor turn my art into a cheap, soulless cash grab. I watched him hire managers like you—bullies who care more about the price of a shoe than the dignity of a human being."
Chloe, the receptionist, was frantically typing on her phone behind the front desk. "I'm calling Victor directly," she panicked, wanting to be the one to save the company. "I'm telling him there's an emergency."
"Good," Arthur said, turning to look at the terrified blonde girl. "Tell him to bring his lawyers. Because I brought mine."
May you like
Right on cue, the heavy glass doors of the salon swung open.
---
