Chapter 7 - The Mastermind Behind the Veil
Theo stood up, a sudden, burning clarity washing over him. The fog of corporate ambition, stock options, and private equity deals that had blinded him for a decade completely evaporated.
He looked at Ruby. “Pack your things, Ruby. And grab Leo’s coat.”
Ruby blinked, stepping back defensively. “What? Why? Where are we going?”
“We’re going to the Four Seasons,” Theo said firmly. “I have a permanent executive suite there. You and Leo are staying there tonight. And Grandpa is staying with me. Nobody is sleeping in this cold apartment tonight.”
“Mr. Carrington, I can’t accept that,” Ruby insisted, shaking her head. “I’m just an employee. Well, an ex-employee. I don’t need your charity.”
“It’s not charity, Ruby,” Theo said, stepping closer, his voice utterly sincere. “It’s restitution. And tomorrow morning, you are coming back to Carrington’s.”
“To work for Victor?” Ruby scoffed bitterly. “I’d rather scrub toilets at the bus station.”
“Victor Hale is gone,” Theo stated cleanly. “He was escorted off the premises thirty minutes ago by security. He will never step foot inside a Carrington property again as long as he lives.”
Ruby gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Walter looked up, his brow furrowing slightly, but he didn't protest.
“What about the Vanguard deal?” Walter asked quietly. “Samuel told me that group was buying into the business tomorrow. They’re expecting a world-class chef, Theo.”
Theo smiled faintly—the first real, genuine smile that had touched his face in years. “Vanguard can take their twelve million dollars and choke on it. But they are still coming tomorrow at noon. And they are going to eat the best meal this city has ever tasted.”
Theo pulled out his phone and dialed Samuel Reese.
“Samuel,” Theo said into the phone the second the manager answered. “Call the entire kitchen staff. Tell them anyone who reports to work tomorrow at six in the morning will receive a five-thousand-dollar cash bonus on their next paycheck. I want the walk-in coolers stripped of all the pretentious junk Victor ordered. Clear out the foams, the micro-greens, the caviar, and the squab.”
“Sir?” Samuel asked, stunned. “What are we cooking for the Vanguard board members?”
Theo looked over at his grandfather, whose eyes were beginning to sparkle with an old, familiar light.
“We’re cooking Walter’s menu,” Theo said. “Slow-roasted prime rib, buttery Yukon gold mashed potatoes, homemade sourdough bread, and Grandma Rose’s roasted tomato soup with fresh basil. And for dessert, we are serving a three-layer lemon sponge cake with buttercream frosting.”
Theo looked at Ruby. “Ruby, can you bake three full cakes by noon tomorrow?”
Ruby looked at Theo, then at Walter, who gave her an encouraging wink. A slow, radiant smile spread across her face. “Mr. Carrington, if you give me twenty pounds of butter and a sack of lemons, I can bake enough cake to feed the entire city of Boston.”
“Good,” Theo said into the phone. “And Samuel? Have the sign company meet us at eight in the morning. We’re changing the brass plaque on the front door.”
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“What should it say, Mr. Carrington?”
Theo looked Walter straight in the eyes. “Carrington’s: Founded by Walter and Rose. Owned by Family.”
