Chapter 5 - The Firing Squad
The next morning, the golden morning sun cutting through the windows of the Golden Oak felt mocking.
I arrived at 10:00 AM for the morning prep shift, slipping my apron over my shoulders. I had already transferred the funds, paid my landlord online, and felt a lightness in my step I hadn't experienced in years. The eviction notice was crumpled at the bottom of my trash can at home.
As I walked out of the kitchen with a tray of fresh water glasses, my manager intercepted me near the hostess stand. His face was gray, his expression a mix of pity and absolute terror.
“Mary,” he said quietly. “Front office. Now.”
I didn't flinch. I set the tray down on a side table, smoothed my skirt, and walked down the carpeted hallway toward the private administrative office.
When I opened the door, Christopher Hale was sitting in the leather armchair behind the manager’s desk, sipping black coffee. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket today; he wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the ruthless corporate predator he was known to be.
The general manager stood nervously in the corner.
“Sit down, Ms. Lin,” Christopher said, his voice smooth, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth. He didn't look up from his coffee cup.
I remained standing. “I prefer to stand, Mr. Hale. If this is about me being fired, you can save your breath. I already know.”
Christopher finally raised his eyes. A thin, chilling smile touched his lips. He leaned back in the chair, interlocking his fingers over his stomach.
“Fired?” Christopher chuckled softly. “Oh, no, Ms. Lin. Being fired is far too kind for someone who interferes in private family matters and attempts to manipulate my son.”
My stomach tightened slightly. “Manipulate him? By talking to him?”
“By filling his head with rebellious nonsense,” Christopher stood up, walking slowly toward me like a cat circling a trapped mouse. “Ethan is fragile. He has medical conditions that require specialized management—management that I provide. When a broke waitress tries to play savior, she creates liabilities.”
He reached into his pocket and slid a folded document across the desk toward me.
“What is this?” I asked, looking down at the paper.
May you like
“A non-disclosure agreement,” Christopher said smoothly. “Along with a termination settlement of ten thousand dollars. You take the money, you sign the paper promising never to speak to, text, or look at my son ever again, and you leave this city by the end of the week.”
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