Chapter 3

"Come to the corporate office."

Richard’s call came early the next morning.

His tone wasn't warm, but it wasn't angry either. Still, Richard rarely called people to headquarters. He only showed his face at the restaurants once every six months; the rest of his time was spent at high-end country clubs.

For him to summon me personally, someone must have paved the way.

In his office, Richard sat in his expensive leather chair, sipping a glass of red wine.

"Have a seat," he said.

I sat down.

"Tell me what's going on with Frank."

"He breached our agreement. I'm handling it according to the contract."

"Which part did he breach?"

"He withheld our pre-ordered stock to sell it to a new client at a discount, and then told me our delivery would be delayed by two days."

Richard took a sip of his wine. "That's not the version of the story he told me."

I kept quiet, waiting.

"He claims you demanded a two-dollar-per-pound kickback. He said when he refused, you threw a tantrum and cut his contract."

I set my coffee cup down on the glass desk. It made a sharp, clean sound.

"And how do you want me to answer that, Richard?"

"Clara, you've been with this company for four years. I know you're efficient. But Frank has been our supplier for three. You told me yourself last year that our three-hundred-thousand-dollar monthly orders kept his business alive during the winter. Now that it's summer, you're just cutting him off?"

"Last year, when we saved his business, he called me his savior. This year, when he pushed me to the back of the line, he called me a useless employee."

Richard's eyelids fluttered slightly.

"I get it. Business is business, but you can't let emotions dictate your decisions. You rejected his stock. How are you going to feed eight restaurants tonight?"

"I'm finding a new supplier."

"Have you found one?"

"Not yet."

"You cut off our main supplier without a backup?" His voice dropped an octave, cold and demanding. "Do you have any idea how much revenue we make on seafood daily during peak season?

Eight stores generate over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a day. If we go dark for even one day, who pays for that?"

"Richard, the price Frank quoted us is two dollars higher than what he charged his new client. And the price he secretly gave Chloe is even lower.

He’s charging three different prices for the exact same batch of fish. Do you honestly think we can keep doing business with someone like that?"

Richard leaned back in his chair, putting his wine glass down.

"I don't know anything about three different prices. Show me the proof."

"I have the invoices and the contract clauses."

I handed him my phone. He scrolled through the screenshots, his face remaining entirely blank.

"I see," he said slowly. "But your priority is still to keep the kitchens running. Don't let the restaurants go dark. As for Frank..." He paused.

"Don't burn the bridge just yet. He called me again. He’s willing to match the lower price for all eight locations, and he’ll throw in five hundred pounds of free shrimp every month."

Five hundred pounds of shrimp.

When he was kicking me out of his warehouse, he couldn't care less. Now that he was about to lose eight major accounts, he was suddenly throwing freebies at us.

"Richard, he's not lowering his price because he’s sorry. He's doing it because he's terrified."

"I don't care if he's terrified. I care about my bottom line," Richard said, standing up. "I'll give you three days.

If you can find a supplier who can handle our volume in three days, I'll support your decision to replace him. If you can't... we go back to Frank."

Three days. Finding a major seafood supplier in the middle of peak season in three days was practically impossible.

As Richard walked to the door, he stopped and looked back at me.

"One more thing. Chloe told me your emotional decision-making is causing a lot of stress for the team. I’m only telling you this because I want to keep the peace. But you need to watch your step."