Chapter 2 - The Empty Table
Back at the Parker family home in the wealthy suburb of Oak Creek, the atmosphere inside the dining room was decaying into absolute panic.
The long mahogany table, designed to seat twelve, was laid out with polished silver, crystal wine glasses, and crisp linen napkins. But the silver platters were stark white and bone-dry. The kitchen behind the double doors was pitch black, silent, and cold.
Ryan Parker—dressed in an expensive, ill-fitting tailored suit—was pacing back and forth near the marble fireplace, his forehead slick with sweat.
"Where is she?!" Ryan hissed under his breath, glaring at his mother, Eleanor, who was frantically arranging a bowl of raw store-bought grapes in a desperate attempt to create an appetizer. "Mom, you said she’d be here by five! Mr. Harrison’s board members are sitting in the parlor asking where the dinner service is!"
"I texted her three times!" Eleanor whispered sharply, her voice trembling with hysteria. "She always does what she’s told! She’s never late! Richard, talk to your son!"
Richard Parker, a tall, grey-haired man with an arrogant posture that was rapidly deflating, poured himself a double glass of scotch at the wet bar. His hand shook so violently that the amber liquid splashed over the polished wood.
"She’s doing this on purpose," Richard spat softly, his eyes dark with rage. "She’s throwing a tantrum because I told her she had to stay home and manage the estate kitchen instead of taking that ridiculous job offer out of state. She thinks she’s making a point."
"A point?!" Ryan choked, clutching his hair. "Dad! Arthur Harrison is sitting in our den! If we don't serve dinner in twenty minutes, he’s going to pull the regional contract! The bank will call in the two-million-dollar loan on my franchise! I’ll be ruined!"
Just then, the parlor doors swung open.
Arthur Harrison stepped into the dining room, accompanied by his chief operating officer, Marcus Sterling, and two legal advisors. Harrison’s expression was unreadable, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Mr. and Mrs. Parker," Harrison said, his voice cutting through the hushed tension like a razor. "My associates and I have been waiting for forty-five minutes. My schedule is tight. Where is the five-course tasting menu promised in your promotion event itinerary?"
Eleanor forced a shrill, nervous laugh, clutching her pearl necklace. "Oh, Mr. Harrison! Please, accept our deepest apologies! Our... our hired kitchen staff had a sudden family emergency! It’s so difficult to find reliable help these days, isn't it?"
"Hired help?" Harrison echoed, raising a single eyebrow. "I was under the impression from Ryan’s resume that he managed the family’s culinary operations himself."
Ryan swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "I... I oversee the high-level strategy, sir! The execution is handled by domestic staff..."
"Domestic staff?" Harrison’s voice dropped an octave, turning ice-cold. "Is that what you call your sister, Ryan?"
The room went completely, dead silent.
Richard set his scotch glass down with a heavy CLACK. "Mr. Harrison, I don't know what foolish rumors you've heard, but my daughter, Olivia, is a headstrong girl who has chosen not to participate in family affairs. She has no role in Ryan’s business operations."
"Is that so, Richard?" Harrison said, pulling a leather document folder from his jacket and dropping it onto the empty dining table. "Then perhaps you can explain why your company's culinary audit reports from the last three years bear her professional chef's seal, while your son’s signature only appears on the expense accounts?"
Before Richard could answer, the heavy front doors of the mansion clicked open.
High heels clicked smoothly against the hardwood floor of the foyer.
Every head turned.
Olivia stepped into the dining room. She wasn't wearing her usual grease-stained chef’s jacket or her modest home clothes. She wore an elegant, sharp charcoal-grey trouser suit, her hair tied back in a sleek ponytail, carrying a leather briefcase in her left hand.
She didn't look tired. She didn't look ashamed.
May you like
She looked like the owner of the house.
"Good evening, everyone," Olivia said softly, stopping at the end of the table. "I apologize for the delay. The traffic on the interstate was rather heavy."
