“Yes.”
“But I’ve only been working here three months.”
Claire glanced around the room.
“That’s long enough to show who you are.”
The manager suddenly slammed his hand on the counter.
“This is ridiculous,” he snapped.
“You can’t just walk in here and replace me.”
Claire didn’t raise her voice.
Instead, she calmly walked toward the front window and gestured outside.
“Take a look.”
The manager hesitated, then glanced through the glass door.
Two black SUVs had just pulled up.
A man in a suit stepped out holding a folder.
The manager’s stomach tightened.
Claire spoke quietly.
“That’s the property attorney.”
“And he’s here to deliver the termination notice.”
The door opened moments later.
The suited man stepped inside.
“Ms. Laurent,” he said politely, handing Claire the folder.
She opened it, glanced at the first page, then slid the document across the counter.
“You have until the end of the day,” she said calmly.
The manager read the page.
His face drained of color.
“You’re serious.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“Very.”
Behind them, several customers began whispering.
One leaned toward another table.
“Wait… she owns the building?”
The restaurant suddenly felt different.
The manager looked smaller now.
Not powerful.
Just angry.
“You can’t run a restaurant with charity,” he muttered.
Claire slowly turned toward him.
“No,” she said.
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