Chapter 5: The Plea
The next morning, Eliana didn't go to her station. Instead, she waited outside the small, glass-walled office of Mr. Benson, the restaurant owner. He was a man who measured life in profit margins and overhead costs. When he finally arrived, smelling of expensive cologne and impatience, Eliana followed him inside before he could close the door.
"Mr. Benson, please," she started, her voice cracking. "My mother... she needs surgery. Emergency heart surgery. I need a loan, or a salary advance. Just a portion of it."
Benson didn't even look up from his briefcase. "How much, Eliana?"
"One million Naira, sir. But even half—"
Benson let out a sharp, dry laugh that cut her off. "One million? Eliana, you are a waitress. You make thirty thousand a month. It would take you three years of working for free to pay that back. This is a business, not a charity ward. I can't help you."
"Please, sir! I'll work every shift. I'll clean the floors, I'll stay late—"
"Get to your station, Eliana," he said, his voice turning cold. "Or find another job where they pay people for their sob stories."