Chapter 2

"Clara, are you serious?"

Leo, the manager of Store 4, was the first to explode in the WhatsApp group.

Marcus from Store 2 chimed in next: "Switching suppliers during peak season? Do we have a backup source ready?"

Abby from Store 7 sent a voice note. Just two words: "I'm in."

Within ten minutes, six of the eight managers had replied. Lucas from Store 1 kept quiet—he rarely spoke in the group anyway. Chloe from Store 5 was also silent.

I didn't wait. I called Chloe directly.

"Did you see the message?" I asked.

"I did," Chloe replied, her voice slow and unbothered. "Clara, can I ask what happened? Why the sudden move?"

I told her about the warehouse incident. The new client cutting the line, the lower price per pound, the free shrimp, and how Frank wouldn't even look me in the eye.

Chloe paused for a few seconds.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?"

"I mean, it's peak season. Stock shortages are normal. Sure, his attitude was bad, but cutting our entire supply chain over a personal grudge? Isn't that a little impulsive?"

"So you think I should just take it."

"I think we need to look at the bigger picture. Who is going to supply us now? Every warehouse on the coast is running at maximum capacity. Who has spare inventory? If all eight of our restaurants run out of seafood tonight, who takes the fall?"

"I do."

"Fine," she sighed, a hint of disdain slipping through. "You're the head of procurement. Your call."

I hung up, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

My phone rang. It was Frank. I let it ring three times before picking up.

"Are you out of your mind?" his gravelly voice rasped through the speaker. "Marcus just told me you’re rejecting my deliveries!"

"You told me to buy from someone else. So I am."

"That was just a figure of speech!"

"And what about 'you're just an employee, saving money won't get you a bonus'? Was that a figure of speech too?"

He fell silent for a second. I heard the click of a lighter, followed by a long drag. He was trying to compose himself.

"Fine. I shouldn't have said that. But don't use it as an excuse to throw a tantrum. Do you have any idea how much stock your eight locations burn through in a day? I'm the only supplier on this wharf who can guarantee that volume during peak season. Go ahead and ask around."

"I will."

"You won't find anyone," he chuckled. "And let me remind you, Clara. You're just the buyer, not the owner. If the restaurants lose money because of a shortage, Richard is going to drag you over the coals. Do you really think the CEO is going to take your side?"

"That's between me and Richard."

"Alright, tough girl. Let me give you some free advice. If you crawl back to me before tonight and apologize, I'll pretend this never happened. But if you wait until tomorrow, the price goes up."

"Don't hold your breath. I'm not coming back."

"Suit yourself."

He slammed the phone down.

Less than half an hour later, Lucas from Store 1 called me.

"Did Frank call you?" Lucas asked, keeping his voice low.

"Just hung up."

"He called me too," Lucas warned. "He told me something you should know."

"What did he say?"

"He said he has a personal relationship with Richard. He's going to bypass you and talk to the CEO directly. He told us to ignore your orders."

I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel. "Anything else?"

"He said he already 'handled' Chloe. He didn't give details, but he sounded extremely smug about it."

Handled her. What did that mean?

At 8:00 PM, a photo popped up in our WhatsApp group chat.

Chloe had posted it. It was a delivery invoice from Frank’s warehouse, dated today. The item, the weight, and the signature at the bottom—Store 5, Chloe Bennett.

Underneath the photo, she texted:

"Sorry, Clara. This order was placed days ago and couldn't be canceled. We can't let our customers starve during peak season. I'm just doing what's best for the business."

The group chat went dead silent. Leo quickly deleted a message he was halfway through typing. Marcus stopped posting.

I zoomed in on the invoice, looking closely at the price column.

The shrimp. The unit price Frank gave Chloe was four dollars cheaper than what he had quoted me. It wasn't just two dollars cheaper—it was four.

It was even cheaper than what he charged the new client.

Frank wasn't just doing business anymore. He was actively trying to destroy my authority from the inside.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

"Be smart and know your place. — Frank"