Chapter 4

"I’ve been in the seafood industry for twenty years, and I’ve never seen anything like this. I practically begged to supply them during the off-season, and now they flip on me faster than a light switch.

A mere purchasing manager, acting like she owns the place just because she holds a few contracts."

Frank was airing his grievances in the local F&B WhatsApp group. There were over three hundred restaurant owners and suppliers in that chat.

He didn't name me directly, but every single word was aimed at me.

Naturally, his friends in the industry immediately jumped in to support him.

One supplier wrote: "Frank is a good guy. He’s been patient enough."

Another chimed in: "Some buyers get a little power and forget who they actually are. They're just employees."

A third sent a thumbs-up emoji: "The client is always right, I guess. Can’t mess with them!"

Not a single person spoke up for me.

I watched the messages scroll up my screen, my fingers freezing over the glass.

Frank wasn't just venting. He was blacklisting me.

Every potential supplier I could contact was in that group. By ruining my reputation first, he was making sure no one would dare take my call.

That afternoon, I made three phone calls.

The owner of Sunrise Seafood picked up first.

"Hey, Arthur," I said. "We need a stable supplier for the peak season. The volume is pretty high. Can you take us on?"

"Ah, Clara, I heard about what happened," he said, sounding incredibly hesitant. "It's not that I don't want to help, but Frank and I have worked together for ten years. He already reached out to us. He asked us to stay out of his dispute."

"So you're turning down business just because he asked?"

"It’s a small industry, Clara. We all have to see each other at the docks every day. It's not worth making enemies over one account. I hope you understand."

He hung up.

The second call was to the manager of Crestview Seafood.

"Look, Clara, I already know why you're calling," he cut me off before I could even finish my greeting. "We're at maximum capacity. We can't take on any more clients right now. Sorry."

He didn't even bother with pleasantries.

The third call was to the owner of Apex Seafood.

He didn't reject me immediately, but his terms were ridiculous.

"Sure, I can take you," he laughed. "But since it's peak season and you need a rush order, the price will be three dollars above market rate. And I can only supply four of your locations. I don't have enough stock for all eight."

"That price is even higher than Frank’s original quote," I pointed out.

"Then go back to Frank," he sneered. "He wants you, but you won't go. We have the stock, but you think we're too expensive. That’s just how the game is played, sweetheart."

"The game." I had heard that phrase three times today, and it always meant the same thing: "You have no options."

That night, Chloe posted another photo in the group chat. This time, it wasn't an invoice. It was a picture of her restaurant's display cases, packed to the brim with fresh, glittering seafood.

"Our deliveries today were incredibly fresh. The customers are thrilled! Consistency is everything during peak season," she wrote.

She didn't tag me, but the message was loud and clear.

Leo replied with a simple "Got it," while the rest of the managers stayed silent.

Abby sent me a private Snapchat message: "Clara, don't let her get to you. But you need to find some leverage, and fast. Otherwise, Richard is going to replace you."

"Leverage."

I sat in my apartment, staring at the list of suppliers on my desk. Three rejections. Zero options.

My phone buzzed again. In the industry WhatsApp group, Frank had sent a voice note. His voice was boisterous, clearly meant to be heard by everyone on the docks:

"Great news, everyone! We just locked in a deal with Harvey Thorne to supply all twelve of his new trendy bistros. We're running at full capacity now, so our regular clients might have to wait in line. First come, first served. That's just the rule!"

A flood of congratulatory messages followed.

Harvey Thorne was the flashy new client I had seen at the warehouse. Twelve bistros.

Frank was letting everyone know that he didn't need our business. He just wanted me to beg.

Abby snapped me again: "Clara, do you have a backup plan or not?"