Chapter 2

I took a deep breath and typed out my reply, pressing hard on the screen.

Me: [The owner next door and I are just neighbors. He's a good man who occasionally treats me to a meal, that's all.]

Me: [I'm telling the truth. If nobody minds, you're all welcome to come to my family's breakfast shop instead. I'll have my mom pick up fresh seafood, and she's a great cook. She won't shortchange anyone…]

Once my message went out, the chat went quiet again.

After a long pause, someone finally responded.

[That greasy little breakfast place next door? Gross. If we're eating there, I'm out for Saturday.]

[Same here.]

Denise immediately jumped back in, tagging the whole group.

[Don't worry, everyone. It's the place I dropped the pin for — no mistake. We're all still on for Saturday.]

The chat lit right back up.

[@Amy, the lobster needs to be sashimi-style, sliced thin.]

[Steam the king crab with garlic, and don't break the legs.]

[My kid only eats tuna belly. Get a few extra servings.]

A young mother sent a voice message.

"Denise, you're really generous. My daughter wants to thank you."

Right after came a toddler's babbled thank-you.

The chat filled up with people thanking Denise one after another.

Even Gerald Keller, who'd stayed quiet the whole time, chimed in with a string of thumbs-up.

[The kind of team spirit Denise is showing here is something the whole company should learn from. There's no question who's getting Employee of the Year.]

Denise shot back a bashful emoji within a second.

[It's really nothing. Just doing what any of us would do.]

A moment later, a private message popped up on my screen.

[Amy, use your head. Don't ruin Gerald's birthday party. It won't do you any favors.]

[If you think the money's not enough, I'll send you another hundred.]

She transferred it over.

[A hundred and ninety-nine dollars for a meal — that's at least a hundred and fifty in profit for you, right? Happy now? Making money off your own coworkers — you really do know how to squeeze people.]

I laughed, more out of disbelief than humor.

A hundred and ninety-nine dollars, more than fifty people eating their fill of seafood, ordering lobster and king crab by name — and somehow I was the one supposedly pocketing a hundred and fifty?

I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my private chat with Gerald.

I attached a clear photo of my family's business license and the sign above the shop door — "Hartwell's Diner" — and sent it over.

Me: [Gerald, I'm not trying to get out of anything. That seafood restaurant genuinely isn't run by my family. We really do just sell meat pies.]

Me: [This whole thing has been a misunderstanding from the start. I can't promise anything on my family's behalf, and I'd really appreciate it if you could say something in the group to clear this up.]

The message showed as read within a second.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes.

Half an hour.

Gerald never replied.

I went back to the group chat, which had already filled up with hundreds of new messages. Denise's profile picture was bouncing at the top of the feed.

Denise: [Everyone, I almost forgot to mention — Amy's restaurant is throwing in a free seafood gift bag for everyone. Don't forget to grab yours on the way out!]

The chat exploded.

[A gift bag too? Dried scallops, foie gras, white truffles, caviar — I want all!]

[My family's got six people coming. Do we get six bags?]

[Can we swap the truffles for caviar instead? My wife just had a baby, she needs the Beluga.]

[I went to another seafood place before, and they charged me thirty-eight hundred dollars just for one lobster served three ways. Total ripoff. Amy's family's place is the real deal. That's what you get from an honest neighborhood shop.]