Chapter 2

I almost laughed at the absurdity of these people.

Sunset Joy was something I had set up with my own money after my retirement.

This old neighborhood had many empty-nesters. Their children were busy, and a lot of the elderly struggled to get a decent meal.

I paid to rent this space and hired a cook and staff because I wanted them to have hot, decent meals. After considering the elderly residents' financial situation, I priced the meals at a dollar each.

The dollar didn't even cover the utilities, let alone the cost of ingredients and labor. For every meal, I had personally subsidized at least 20 dollars out of my own pocket.

Over the past year, while running this kitchen, I had already put in nearly 400 thousand dollars of my own money.

They didn't know any of this. All they knew was that the one-dollar meals no longer suited their tastes.

I turned off the video and looked at Mr. Fletcher.

"So, what exactly do you want?" I asked.

"Our demands are very simple!" Mr. Fletcher cleared his throat, acting like he was the voice of the people.

"First, improve the food! Stop trying to pass off fatty meat to us. We want seafood and lean meat!

"Second, transparency! How many subsidies from the government are you actually getting? How much does each meal cost? You need to disclose everything! You can't have us eating this without knowing the truth!"

An old woman next to him quickly added, "That's right! And variety too! You need to learn from those fancy restaurants—stop repeating the same dishes every day!

"It would be even better if you offered some afternoon tea, fruit, and the like."

Another old man mentioned something even more outrageous.

"I've seen some senior living communities offer massage and foot care services too. Ms. Lawson, if you're really serious about charity, why not go all the way?"

I felt nothing but disgust as I listened to these ridiculous demands.

These people had taken my goodwill for granted. They had turned my generosity into leverage they could use against me.

Instead of addressing their demands, I asked Mr. Fletcher a question.

"Mr. Fletcher, is Maisy your granddaughter?"

"Yes, she is!" Mr. Fletcher puffed up with pride. "My granddaughter is successful and has talent! Unlike some people who only make money the shady way."

His words were pointed, drawing a round of snickering agreement from those around him.

I nodded. "Okay. I understand."

I took a deep breath and turned to Mr. Hewitt, who was standing beside me. "Mr. Hewitt, please notify all the elderly in the neighborhood who have meal cards at the kitchen to gather in the hall at noon tomorrow.

"I will give everyone a clear answer then."

Mr. Hewitt froze for a moment. Then, seeing the unamused expression on my face, he quickly nodded. "Alright. I'll go notify them right away."

Mr. Fletcher grinned smugly when he saw that I had "backed down".

"That's more like it! Ms. Lawson, a smart woman knows when to adapt. Don't worry. If you do as we say, I'll have my granddaughter post another video praising you to help restore your reputation."

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked away, like a triumphant general leading his people.

I stood there, watching their retreating figures and feeling my blood run cold.

I remembered when the kitchen first opened—how the elderly would hold my hand with tears in their eyes and thank me repeatedly.

I recalled Chef Lewis Galvan, who came in at five every morning to start preparing food and ensure everything was tender and well-seasoned.

I remembered how I stayed here every day, overseeing purchasing and sanitation to make sure there were no mistakes.

It turned out that giving your all didn't mean anything to some people. It could even be used as a weapon for them to bite the hand that fed them.

I laughed in self-deprecation. I was too naive.

I thought I was doing something good, but to them, I was just a "sucker" they could take advantage of whenever they wanted.