Chapter 3 - THE BRASS KEY
"Where did you see that?" Robert asked, his eyes darting to the open ledger.
He lunged forward, trying to pull the heavy red book from my hands.
I stepped back, gripping the leather cover tightly. "Don't touch it, Robert."
The remaining diners in the restaurant were openly staring now.
"Daddy?" Sophie’s voice was tiny, terrified.
I immediately softened my posture. I couldn't lose my temper in front of her. Not today. Not on the day we were celebrating her perfect report card.
"It's just paperwork, sweetie," I said, offering her a reassuring smile.
I turned my attention back to Robert. The man I had trusted to run the Midwest division of my company was shaking.
"Elena has been gone for four years," I said, keeping my voice low so only he and Patricia could hear. "If you are using her memory as a metric to turn people away, you're not just fired, Robert. I will ruin you."
Reversal. Robert didn't look scared anymore.
He straightened his tie. A cold, arrogant smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"You can't fire me, Daniel," Robert said smoothly. "You might own the majority shares, but you haven't looked at the new corporate bylaws the board passed last week while you were playing in the dirt at your construction sites."
He pulled a folded, thick envelope from his inner jacket pocket and tapped it against his palm.
"Clause 4-B. The board can suspend the CEO if his actions threaten the public reputation and financial stability of the Mercer Group."
He looked at my muddy boots.
"Creating a scene, screaming at staff, and refusing to adhere to basic decency standards... I’d say you're threatening our reputation right now."
He was trying to stage a corporate coup. And he was using my daughter's dinner to trigger it.
"Patricia," Robert commanded, turning to the manager. "Call the police. Tell them a man in work clothes is harassing the staff and refusing to leave."
Patricia hesitated. She looked at me, then at Sophie.
"Mr. Ellis, he's the owner—"
"Do it, Patricia!" Robert snapped.
I didn't wait.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my heavy brass master key. The key that opened every single door in every single Mercer property across the country.
"Come on, Sophie," I said, taking her hand.
I didn't walk toward the front door.
I walked directly past Robert, through the double swinging doors, and straight into the kitchen.
"Hey! You can't go back there!" Robert yelled, his footsteps echoing behind us.
I ignored him. I pulled Sophie past the stunned chefs and line cooks, heading straight for the back management office.
I slammed the brass key into the lock, twisted, and pushed the heavy steel door open.
I pulled Sophie inside and locked the door behind us just as Robert’s fists slammed against the outside.
We were safe for the moment.
But as I turned to look at the manager's desk, my blood ran cold.
Sitting directly in the center of Patricia's desk was a framed photograph. Not of Patricia's family.
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It was a picture of Robert, shaking hands with the CEO of our biggest rival hospitality group.
And they were standing in front of this exact restaurant.
