Chapter 4 - The Bitter Taste of Regret
Victor’s face drained of color until he looked like a corpse. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his arrogant composure shattering into complete panic. “W-What? That… that old man was Walter? Theo, how was I supposed to know? He looked like a nobody! He was wearing an old jacket! He never said a word!”
“Because he didn’t have to!” Theo roared, shoving Victor backward so hard the chef crashed into the stainless-steel prep shelf, sending metal bowls clattering down around him. “He was a gentleman! Something you couldn't comprehend if you lived a hundred lifetimes!”
Theo turned to face the entire kitchen staff. Every single line cook was staring in shock. “Which one of you helped him out the door?”
Nobody spoke. Finally, a young dishwasher in the back, an eighteen-year-old kid named Marco, raised a trembling hand. “Ruby did, Mr. Carrington. When Chef Victor pushed the old man toward the coat rack, Ruby caught him before he fell. She gave Mr. Walter her own scarf because he was shivering. Then they walked out into the cold together.”
Theo closed his eyes, a wave of profound shame washing over his entire soul. He had built an empire of efficiency, an empire that rewarded cruelty and discarded loyalty like an expired cut of meat. He looked back at Victor, who was frantically brushing off his jacket, trying to piece his dignity back together.
“Theo, listen to me,” Victor pleaded, his voice rising in desperation. “It was a mistake! An honest misunderstanding! But you cannot let this jeopardize tomorrow. The Vanguard executives are landing at ten tomorrow morning. I have thirty pounds of imported turbot in the walk-in cooler! If I’m not here to execute the menu, the deal dies! We’re talking about twelve million dollars in your pocket!”
Theo looked at Victor Hale. For years, Theo had believed that men like Victor—ruthless, ambitious, obsessed with prestige—were the keys to success. Now, looking at him, Theo felt nothing but pure revulsion.
“Get your knives,” Theo said coldly.
Victor froze. “What?”
“Get your personal knives, strip off that jacket, and get the hell out of my building.”
“You can’t fire me!” Victor shrieked, his voice cracking. “I have a five-year contract! I have equity options! If you fire me without cause right before the Vanguard acquisition, I will sue you for every dime you own! I will ruin you in the press! Carrington’s will be a laughingstock!”
“Samuel,” Theo called out, ignoring Victor completely.
Samuel stepped forward immediately. “Yes, Mr. Carrington?”
“Have building security escort Mr. Hale off the property. If he refuses to leave within three minutes, have the Boston Police Department arrest him for criminal trespass and assault against an elderly patron. I have the entire incident saved on high-definition security footage from Camera Four.”
Victor’s jaw dropped. The arrogance vanished entirely, replaced by the sheer, sickening realization that he had just destroyed his own career in an instant. Security guards appeared at the kitchen doors, their heavy boots thudding against the floor. Within moments, Victor was being firmly gripped by both arms and dragged down the service hallway, his pathetic screams echoing off the tile: “You’re ruining yourself, Theo! You hear me?! Vanguard will crush you tomorrow!”
When the kitchen doors swung shut, the room fell into absolute silence.
Theo turned to Samuel. “Where does Ruby live?”
Samuel pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “I wrote down her address the moment I saw you call, sir. And Mr. Carrington… Walter didn't go back to the assisted-living home. The facility director called an hour ago. He never showed up for dinner.”
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Theo felt his heart stop. “What do you mean he never showed up?”
“He’s missing, sir. In this storm.”
