Chapter 17
She landed on the floor wrong.
That was the detail that stayed with Amber
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The staff meeting was the next afternoon.
They gathered in the small office behind the kitchen, standing where they could. No one complained. No one asked why they'd been called in.
The manager waited until the door was shut.
Then he pressed a button on the copier.
The machine hummed to life.
One by one, sheets slid out onto the tray. The manager collected them neatly, squared the stack against the desk, and began passing them around.
Amber took one.
A business card.
Heavy stock. Clean font. A law firm's name embossed along the edge.
"The case is being handled by them," the manager said, evenly. "If anyone is contacted, that's who it'll be through."
"they might need someone to testify , someone who witnessed the incident"
No warning followed.
No reassurance.
No mention of reputation or loyalty. He didn't need to , it was implied . Anyone testifying can't work here anymore. The restaurant's reputation would plummet and the one responsible cannot stay
He didn't look at anyone in particular.
"That's all," he said. "You can get back to work."
The meeting dissolved quietly.
Amber folded the card once and slid it into her pocket.
The kitchen was louder now. Orders stacking. Timers going off. Someone laughing too hard at something that wasn't funny.
She moved through it automatically.
This place had been her way out.
She couldn't afford culinary school—not tuition, not time. The programs she'd looked into wanted everything up front. Money she didn't have. Hours she couldn't spare.
But this place was different.
They paid well. Better than anywhere she'd worked before. They adjusted her schedule so she could take classes. Covered the rest as long as she stayed on track.
It wasn't charity.
It was an investment.
The kind that came with expectations.
The dining room reflected that. White tablecloths. Controlled lighting. Plates that cost more than her monthly rent. The cheapest item on the menu started at five hundred dollars, and no one ever asked why.
People came here to feel secure from eyes .
Amber understood that .It's not the food that attracts people , it's the animosity . Someone meeting a political rival, some rich businessman having a scandalous affair , all being protected by the restaurant .
She stepped into the staff bathroom and locked the door.
The mirror stared back at her.
She reached into her pocket and took out the folded paper.
The business card.
She unfolded it slowly, read the name again, then tore a sheet from the dispenser beside the sink. Wrote a single line on it.
Sorry. I can't give up on this , she muffled herself .
She crumpled the paper once and dropped it into the trash.
Amber washed her hands and looked at her reflection until it steadied.
Then she unlocked the door and went back to work.