CHAPTER 42
Sebastian
I MADE THE RESERVATION FOR FRIDAY NIGHT, SEVEN p.m., center table at the most exclusive steakhouse in Gramercy.
Two full weeks had passed since the launch event exploded in our faces. The media circus had died down a bit since then, but the restaurant still erupted into murmurs when my father and I walked in.
As expected, we were the first to arrive. We sat across from each other, our suits crisp, our expressions carefully neutral.
Neither of us spoke, but the air crackled with tangible anticipation.
The weight of the other diners’ scrutiny closed in on us as we waited for our guest to arrive. Their whispers crowded the air, forming a steady background hum that made my heart beat a little faster under my perfectly pressed shirt.
Even so, I took a calm sip of water and kept my posture relaxed. If we showed weakness, the predators would pounce.
Tonight was about taking back power. There was a reason I’d chosen this specific restaurant on this specific night at this specific time. The other diners didn’t know it yet, but
they had pivotal roles in this play.
Our guest arrived eight minutes after seven. He didn’t apologize for his tardiness.
Making us wait was an obvious power play, but neither my father nor I mentioned it as we greeted him.
“I must admit, I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation.” Charles Whitaker smoothed the front of his tie as he took the seat across from me. “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen in public so soon after your recent… troubles. Atthis place, no less.”
He didn’t seem concerned about being seen with us himself, probably because it was damn nice to be the CEO of Whitaker Farms right now. Thanks to our recent scandal, Singh Foods’s stocks had plummeted, and Whitaker Farms’s had skyrocketed to the point that Charles was socially invincible.
Too bad for him, that wasn’t going to last.
“It’s been a challenging two weeks,” my father acknowledged, his expression affable. Only a handful of people in existence knew him well enough to detect the steel beneath his smile. “That’s one of the reasons we invited you here. We have a proposal for you.”
“Oh?” Charles looked intrigued. “What might that be?”
“There’s time for business later,” I interjected, just like our script called for. We had to hook Charles with the proposal so he didn’t leave early, but we couldn’t tip our hand yet. “Let’s order first. The wine here is exquisite, and I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”
Luckily, Charles was too arrogant to question my flimsy excuse. He went along with my suggestion and ordered the most expensive items on the menu.
The most expensive items weren’t always the best, but people like Charles Whitaker cared more about appearances than quality. I bet he’d pay a fortune for an overpriced, trendy burger that tasted exactly like a five-dollar-one from a food cart.
We made idle conversation over appetizers. He tried to dig for intel on the Singhs and how they were handling their stock drop (as if we’d know), but we sidestepped his poorly concealed probes with polite deflections.
I wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off his face, but I had to wait until I got the official go-ahead.
Restlessness thrummed beneath my skin. I checked my phone discreetly every five minutes, and it paid off when I received the text I’d been waiting for during our main
course.
Finally.
I slid a glance at my father, who picked up on my silent signal and nodded.
“Now that we have some food in our stomachs, I think it’s time to discuss business.” I picked up the leather folder waiting on the seat next to mine and slid it across the table.
Charles took it. He flipped it open lazily, body language oozing haughty curiosity, but his smirk soon vanished. He straightened, flipping faster and faster until he reached the last page. When he looked up again, his face was mottled with anger. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Satisfaction slithered through my veins at his shaking voice.Not so arrogant now, are you?
“Good question.” I nodded at the entrance. “I’ll let our partners explain.”
Maya and her father entered the dining room to wide eyes and open mouths. There was a brief lull in conversation as everyone watched, transfixed, while they took their seats at our table. Once they were settled, a fresh wave of whispers swept through the restaurant.
Maya sat next to me while Neal sat on the other side of Charles. He clapped a hand on his competitor’s back like they were old friends.
“Close your mouth,” he said. “It’s unbecoming to gape.”
Charles’s eyes flared with anger. He tossed the folder on the table and rose halfway as if to leave, but he seemed to
remember that everyone was watching. He sank back down, his mouth tight.
“Perfect timing,” I told the Singhs. “Charles here was just asking me about the meaning of this.” I tapped a finger against the folder.
“I expected a better question from you, Charles. You know exactly what that is.” Neal tsked. “It’s your comeuppance.”
The folder was our smoking gun, so to speak. It’d been sealed and delivered by none other than Christian Harper himself, which meant the information was rock solid.
As promised, the billionaire CEO of Harper Security and infamous hacker had come through for us in record time.
He’d tracked down every person who’d so much as stepped foot in the kitchen during or prior to the event, and he’d quickly identified the culprit—Gus, the venue-supplied junior cook whom I’d yelled at for almost botching the lasagna. It turned out he’dactually botched the lasagna, and he’d signed a confession admitting Whitaker Farms had paid off his gambling debts in exchange for him slipping laxatives into the food. The kitchen had been so chaotic that no one noticed his act of sabotage. Luckily for us, the young cook had been so flustered and inexperienced that he hadn’t properly covered his tracks, which was how Maya’s first investigator found the strip of foil under the fridge.
Christian took things a step further and turned up pages of evidence linking Whitaker Farms to a string of corporate sabotage over the years, including but not limited to Singh Foods’s listeria contamination scandal last summer. Maya had been right about the Pittsburgh factory but wrong about the person responsible. It hadn’t been the employee they’d fired; it’d been a security guard that Whitaker had bribed to sneak in and tamper with the food. They’d targeted Pittsburgh because that was where Singh Foods’ most lucrative products were manufactured.
I still didn’t trust Christian—his willingness to employ questionable methods was a disaster waiting to happen,
and I was sure I didn’t want to know how he’d gotten Gus to confess so quickly—but I had to give credit where credit was due. If it weren’t for him, we’d be empty-handed, and Charles would’ve gotten away with his crimes.
“I actually pity you,” Neal told Charles. “Instead of engaging in fair play or simply creating a better product than us, you resorted to sabotage to gain a competitive edge. It’s pathetic.”
“I’ve no idea what you mean.” The other man made a valiant attempt at a bluff, but the beads of sweat forming on his upper lip gave him away. “That folder contains nothing but lies and fabrications. Technology these days—”
“Allows people to accomplish some extraordinary feats,”
Maya said. Her smile was pure sugar. “It’s funny you should mention it. I heard that while you were enjoying your steak, someoneallegedly hacked into your home computer. I wonder what they found.”
The color drained from Charles’s face. “That’s breaking and entering,” he hissed. “No court—”
“It’s not breaking and entering if your front door was unlocked—allegedly,” she said. “That’s the downside of having electronic locks. When the tech glitches, all sorts of bad stuff can happen.”
I hid a smile. Screw it. I was sending Harper a big, fat gift basket after this.
“Here’s our proposal.” Neal leaned back and steepled his fingers. “You will hold a press conference andpersonally admit to sabotaging both our launch and our lasagna line last summer. You will tell the media that you did this willingly and of your own free will, for no reason other than to bolster your own company. You will also resign as CEO of Whitaker Farms, effective immediately, and state that you will not accept any role in the food and restaurant industry for the duration of your lifetime. If you don’t, we’ll leak everything online and let the authorities and public tear you apart.”
Charles barked out a laugh. It was high and brittle, as if it were starved for oxygen. “Why would I do that? Whether I admit it or you leak it, the result will be the same.”
“No, it won’t,” Maya said. “Notice my father said everything. The documents in the folder are only the tip of the iceberg.”
“This is preposterous.” Charles trembled with outrage.
“People lie. Documents can be forged. You—”
“Can they be forged if they were found on your personal computer?” I asked coolly. “Tax evasion. Money laundering.
Consumer fraud. If those files are leaked, the consequences will make those for corporate sabotage look like child’s play.
We’re letting you off easy with our proposal. Reject it, and you’ll find yourself facing jail time—or worse.”
I spotted the very moment Charles realized he’d been beaten. His shoulders sagged, and the defiance vanished from his eyes. “I suppose you have a deadline for this press conference in mind,” he clipped out.
“As soon as possible would be nice, but we’re not monsters,” my father said. “You have until the end of day on Monday to carry out our terms. That way, you can still enjoy the weekend. The weather’s supposed to be lovely.”
“Fine,” Charles spat. He shoved his chair back and stood.
Apparently, he no longer cared about making a scene, but he paused to address Neal before he left. “You have no idea what it’s like,” he said, his voice bitter. “You haveno idea how hard it is to always be second best. To try and try and still fall short. We became CEOs around the same time, and I had to watch you soar effortlessly while I played catch-up. It was humiliating.”
Neal’s face clouded. “You don’t know me or what I’ve gone through to get to where I am,” he said evenly.
“Everyone faces obstacles. Everyone experiences failure.
That isn’t an excuse to cheat because your ego can’t handle losing fairly.”
“Spare me your self-righteousness. At least I knew when
to pivot. The regular methods weren’t working, so I employed more… creative tactics. And theyworked. In another year or two, we would’ve beaten you as market leader.”
“You would’ve done so via fraud and sabotage.” Neal’s eyes flashed, but his voice was low and controlled. “That’s not real victory.”
“Winning is winning, no matter the means,” Charles said coldly. “That’s what you don’t get.”
“And yet, you haven’t won, have you?” I drawled. I’d had enough of Whitaker’s attempts at justification. He could shovel his bullshit until he was blue in the face, but when it came down to it, he was nothing more than a cheater and a sore loser. People like him didn’t deserve our respect or energy. “By the way, we forgot to mention that you’ll cover all costs and expenses for our second launch event since you sabotaged our first one. Thank you in advance for your contribution. I hear it’s a big one.”
Charles glared down at me, his eyes blazing with resentment. My bored interjection seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. “Fine,” he spat again. He stormed off, leaving a buzz of excited speculation in his wake.
“That,” Neal said, “was incredibly satisfying.”
My father made a noise of agreement.
“Are we worried he’ll try to do something stupid over the weekend?” Maya asked.
“No. I have Harper keeping an eye on him until after the press conference,” I said. “Besides, we want to give people time to do their thing.”
This particular steakhouse wasn’t part of my family’s portfolio, but I’d chosen it because it was a notorious hotspot for journalists and other media power players on Friday nights. We were seated at the coveted center table, which was isolated enough from the other diners to ensure a private conversation. However, eating here also meant being in the spotlight.
That had been part of the plan as well. I’d wanted all eyes on us when we confronted Charles. The journalists here couldn’t resist a good story, and Charles Whitaker eating dinner with his disgraced competitors, only to storm off halfway through,must be a good story.
We didn’t have to leak anything to anyone; they’d uncover the truth themselves. We’d left some clues to help them along, but in the meantime, I was looking forward to Charles’s press conference. It was going to be a great show.
Normally, I wasn’t a vindictive person, but he deserved every bit of retribution thrown his way. When I thought about the launch—when I remembered how sick people had gotten and how I’d spiraled, thinking it was my fault—I was gripped by a fury so intense, I almost choked on it.
I drew a calming breath of air into my lungs and forced my fists to unclench as Neal motioned the server for a menu.
He looked happier than I’d seen him in months. “Now that that’s over, I could use a bite to eat,” he said. “I’m famished.”
My father rolled his eyes. “It’s a steakhouse, Neal. What could you possibly eat here besides the potatoes?”
“The macaroni and cheese. The broccoli. The—”
“Oh, please. Side dishes? You’re going to eat a bunch of side dishes for dinner?”
Maya kicked me lightly under the table as our fathers continued to bicker. I inclined my head, acknowledging her
unspoken exclamation.
They’re talking to each other again!
Our fathers were technically still fighting, but when we’d told them about Whitaker’s sabotage, they hadn’t hesitated to join forces to take him down.
That had been business. This? This sounded the banter between friends.
They appeared to have reached the same conclusion because their conversation abruptly ended. After a tense pause, Neal spoke again, his voice stiff. “Thank you for your
help tonight, but it doesn’t change what you did. This was a temporary pause in our rift, nothing more.” He set his menu down without ordering and rose to leave.
To my surprise, my father stopped him. “Wait,” he said.
“Sit down. There’s something I have to tell you.” He glanced at me. “All of you.”
Neal’s curiosity must’ve overtaken his pride because he sat back down without argument.
My father took a deliberate sip of his wine before he continued. “It’s time I shared the truth behind why I took that dinner with Whitaker,” he said. “It wasn’t because I was trying to network with him or have a foot in both boats, so to speak. It’s because he promised to tell me what really happened at Le Boudoir.”
My head snapped up. That was thelast thing I’d expected
him to say.
Neal and Maya looked equally befuddled.
Adrenaline surged in my veins, but I fought to keep my voice calm. “What do you mean, what really happened?”
My father flicked his eyes around the room. The other diners had returned to their meals, their interest in us gone now that Charles wasn’t here to pique their curiosity.
“Whitaker said he’d discovered the real cause behind Martin Wellgrew’s death,” he said. “I thought he was full of shit, but I also knew Wellgrew’s passing has weighed heavily on you all these years, so I agreed to one meal.” My father directed that statement toward me. “It was a trap. When I got there, he told me he’d only share what he foundif I fed him insider information about Singh Foods. Everyone knows Neal and I are close friends, and he sought to exploit that relationship by using Le Boudoir as leverage. Obviously, I said no.” He glanced at Neal, who stiffened. “However, Whitaker dropped enough hints during our conversation to give me a lead. I hired my own investigator to look into the incident. It took a while. Wellgrew died years ago, and whoever killed him covered their tracks well. But eventually,
my guy dug up the truth.”
Claws sank into my stomach. It was plunging into free fall, every shred of certainty I’d hung myself on crumbling like sandcastles in the tide.
“Martin Wellgrew didn’t die of anaphylactic shock from a peanut allergy,” my father said, his gaze steady on mine.
“Someone poisoned him. Whatever they used mimicked anaphylactic shock to a tee. I couldn’t find the person responsible, but I know for a fact that it wasn’t you. You had nothing to do with his death. It wasn’t your fault.”
His assurance rang in my ears.
It wasn’t your fault.
If I weren’t sitting, I would’ve stumbled to my knees. The anxiety, the sleepless nights, theguilt that had plagued me for years—all the result of a lie.
My chest loosened, and a blinding wave of relief crashed over me.
I’d never been so fucking grateful to have been wrong.
“Oh.” I couldn’t summon a better response.
Maya reached for me, her eyes shining with concern. I shook my head, reminding her that our parents still didn’t know we were dating.
She pulled back, but her frown lingered until I gave her a reassuring nod.
I was fine. I just needed time to process.
This evening was turning out to be an even bigger mindfuck than I’d anticipated.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Neal demanded, his face etched with disbelief. “I would’ve understood. I wouldn’t have—dammit, Michel, I wouldn’t have accused you of betraying me if I’d known.”
“I had to make sure Whitaker wasn’t lying first.” My father’s gaze slid to me again. “I didn’t want to give anyone false hope in case he was. Plus, I was insulted you’d think I’d choose Whitaker over our friendship.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The man can’t even properly pair wine with
his steak. He asked for achardonnay with his filet.”
Neal snorted. “I don’t eat steak, and even I know that’s a
travesty.”
“Exactly!”
And just like that, the cold war between them was over.
Maya and I didn’t speak for most of dinner. We let our fathers catch up, their conversation meandering from business matters to bullshit about other Valhalla Club members. But every so often, I’d catch her eye, she’d smile, and that was enough—for now.
After dinner, my father and I parted ways with the Singhs. I asked him to walk with me to Madison Square Park, and we fell silent as the city’s energy pulsed around us.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?” The headlights of a passing cab swept across us, illuminating my father’s frown.
“Why did you almost ruin your friendship with Neal for me?”
He scoffed. “What a ridiculous question. You’re my son. I did what I had to do.”
“You could’ve gone about it in an easier way. If you’d told him the truth, he would’ve kept your secret. I wouldn’t have known.”
“I didn’t want to risk it.” He rolled his shoulders. “What’s done is done. There’s no use playing the what-if game.”
“I don’t get you.” I stopped to face him, frustration creeping up my neck. “One minute, you’re the father who’s sneering at my dreams of becoming a chef and trying to discourage me every chance you get. The next, you’re sacrificing a lifelong friendship to… what? Make me feel better about the one thing that might’ve convinced menot to be a chef?”
Dealing with my father was like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I never knew which version I was getting.
“People are complicated creatures,” he said with another shrug. “They can be many things at the same time.”
“Don’t feed me that cryptic bullshit.” My teeth ground together. I wanted to scream. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to me running a kitchen if you knew—if you suspected—Wellgrew’s death wasn’t my fault. I get that toiling in a restaurant isn’t the same as signing fucking papers in the C-suite, but you built your empire off restaurants. You, of all people, should respect the work that goes into it.”
“Of course I respect it! That’sexactly why I don’t want you there!” My father finally exploded. He glared at me, his nostrils flaring as he switched to French. “The food world is cutthroat. So is the corporate world, but you’veproven you can handle it. You haven’t proven you can handle the pressure that comes with being a chef. I remember how devastated you were after Wellgrew’s death. I remember finding out my only son was in a fucking jail cell in Prague.
One incident, and you spiraled so hard that I woke up every morning wondering if that was the day I’d get a phone call telling me you weredead.” His jaw locks into a sharp line.
“I’m not saying you didn’t have a good reason for feeling the way you did, but that’s part of the job. What happens the next time someone gets sick at your restaurant or has an allergic reaction? Those instances are rare, but they happen.
I couldn’t see you break again. The kitchen is unpredictable.
But the office? It’s safe. I was trying toprotect you.”
Our breaths sounded too loud in the sudden stillness. A car honked in the distance; a passing subway rumbled beneath a nearby station. It was nighttime, but the lights were bright, so bright it almost hurt my eyes to look at them.
I was reeling again, my mind trying to jam his explanation into a different jigsaw puzzle than the one I’d spent years building.
I hated that he made sense. I hated how perfectly his fears mirrored mine—the fear of accidentally hurting someone and not being tough enough to handle it. I thought
I had thick skin, but what if I didn’t? What if I put myself out there and the experience flayed me alive?
The possibility kept me up at night, but it didn’t compare to my fear of being stuck in perpetual limbo. I didn’t want to go through the motions of life, merely existing. I wanted to feel. Perhaps I’d be the worst chef to hit the kitchen since kitchens were invented, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried.
“Maybe that’s true, but no one has ever made their mark on the world by playing it safe,” I said. “I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t handle Wellgrew’s death well, but that was a lesson I needed to learn. I can’t hide away in an office my entire life because I’m afraid of what’s outside. Even if I fail, I have to try. You have to let me try.”
I didn’t yell or curse him out. I stated the truth, and hopefully, that was enough.
My father’s nostrils flared again. Taut silence stretched between us, but then his jaw clenched, and I knew I’d won.
Maybe he was as tired of fighting as I was. Or maybe, just maybe, he heard me… and he understood.
“We’ll discuss after the second launch event,” he said, switching back to English. “I assume you’ll want a new contract with new terms.”
“No contract. I’ll take you at your word.”
It was my peace offering. It was also a big gamble on my part, but trust ran both ways.
Surprise and a touch of respect flickered across my father’s face before he shut it down. “Fine,” he said gruffly.
“If you pull off the second launch, the terms from our
original contract stand.”
“Deal.”
We shook on it.
Unlike the first time we negotiated this deal, my focus wasn’t on planning a flawless event to spite my father
because it was never really about him.
I didn’t have to prove my worth to him.
I had to prove it to myself.