Chapter 4 - Panic at Table Four
Back in the main dining room, the atmosphere at Table Four had completely collapsed into a state of frozen terror.
Marlene sat rigidly upright, her fork resting beside her plate, her face flushed with humiliation and sudden, creeping dread. The lobster thermidor she had ordered with such haughty precision now sat half-eaten and entirely unappealing.
“What is going on?” Marlene hissed, glaring across the table at Michael. “Your mother? A chef calls her ‘Mrs. Helen’ like she’s royalty? Michael, what aren't you telling us about your family?”
Michael was staring blankly at his wine glass, his hands trembling so badly he had to set it down before he spilled it. “I don't know,” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “I swear to God, I don't know! She lived in a cramped two-bedroom apartment for twenty years! She drove a battered old sedan until two years ago! She has no money, Marlene! She has nothing!”
Marlene’s father cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his silk tie. “Well, she clearly has something, Michael. You don't get the head chef of L’Étoile—a man who once cooked for foreign heads of state—bowing and addressing a guest like she’s an inspector from the Michelin guide.”
“Maybe she’s a secret investor?” Marlene’s mother suggested, her voice rising in disbelief. “Or... or a food critic?”
“No,” Michael muttered, his eyes wide as a cold realization began to dawn in his chest. “No, that’s impossible. My mother doesn't know the first thing about fine dining. She ate canned soup and saltines for half my childhood.”
As if summoned by their rising panic, a junior floor manager in a sharp tuxedo appeared beside their table, holding a silver tray with a folded envelope resting on it.
May you like
“Excuse me, Mr. Vance,” the manager said politely, his expression completely neutral, though his eyes carried a chilling professional detachment. “This message has been brought out from the administrative office for your party.”
Marlene snatched the envelope off the tray before Michael could even move, tearing the heavy paper open with manic urgency.
