Chapter 4

The next day was Saturday.

Around noon, my front door was suddenly pounded on with brutal force.

"Dylan! Open up!" Stanley's booming voice cut straight through the door.

"We're here to pick you up! Dylan!"

The pounding turned into heavy fist thuds, making the entire hallway vibrate.

A next-door neighbor poked their head out to see what the commotion was. Stanley quickly explained, "We're Dylan's coworkers, just picking him up for lunch."

When he turned back to the door, his smile turned malicious. "Dylan, your grandma is still at that nursing home, right? If you don't open this door right now, we're going to pay her a visit!"

A surge of fury rushed through me. I yanked the door open, but before I could utter a word, a hand aggressively gripped my collar.

"What took you so long?" Stanley had an incredibly strong grip. Without another word, he began dragging me toward the elevator.

Two other male coworkers flanked me, pinning my arms so I couldn't break free.

"Dylan, you're the star of the dinner today. We can't have the party without you!"

I stumbled blindly as they dragged me down the stairs. My neck stung from the rough handling.

Downstairs, a dozen coworkers were waiting. When they saw me, they rolled their eyes.

"Wow, some people aren't even permanent staff yet, yet they act like they're above the boss!"

"Everyone's waiting on you. Don't you feel embarrassed?"

I was shoved into a car and driven straight to the restaurant entrance.

Stanley slammed me down into a chair, flipped open the menu, and began rattling off orders to the waiter.

"Lobster, five per table. King crab prepared three ways. Fresh red snapper. Double portions of thick-cut fatty tuna belly…"

With every dish he ordered, he shot a glance my way.

"Dylan, you won't mind, right? We're all colleagues here, not strangers."

He added 12 more abalones to the order.

"It's not every day Mr. Todd celebrates a birthday. We can't skimp out. You don't have an issue with that, do you?"

I remained silent, but the guy sitting next to me, David Perry, chuckled loudly. "Look at Dylan's face. He clearly doesn't care about this little bit of money. Let's not try to save it for him."

After that, Stanley ordered practically every single item on the menu.

The tables were covered with food, with barely any space left.

Once he finished ordering, he looked at me smugly. "Dylan, why so quiet? You're not mad, are you?"

Landon tapped his fingers on the table. "Dylan, show some team spirit. What's with that look?"

With that, he was the first to pick up his fork. "Let's eat, everyone! A company isn't run by an intern's mood!"

The entire group dug in like vultures.

Halfway through the meal, people were spitting out the tuna after a couple of bites, kids were throwing sea cucumbers around like toys, and a few guys were splashing expensive whiskey onto the floor just to liven things up.

Everyone looked at me with smug satisfaction.

"Dylan, surely you're not regretting it now?"

"Why would he regret it? Stanley already paid him. He's making a killing on this."

"True."

By the end, everyone was slumped over in their chairs, completely stuffed.

Stanley told the waiters to start packing the gift bags. Each person walked away clutching three or four heavy bags, grinning from ear to ear.

"My family doesn't even eat this well on Christmas. Dylan, your family's place is incredibly generous. We're making this the official spot for all company dinners from now on!"

Right then, a waiter walked in holding a lengthy receipt.

Stanley's expression shifted slightly. Without a second thought, he shoved me forward. "Dylan, I already transferred you the money, so go ahead and settle the bill. We'll head out first."

He spoke while already making a run for the exit, and the others instantly followed his lead.

The next second, the doorway of the private dining room was completely blocked by a dozen bald, muscular men wearing black workwear.

The man leading them had arms thicker than Stanley's thighs, with tattoos climbing all the way up his neck.

His gaze swept across the room, heavy with menace.

"Six tables. 36 lobsters, 25 king crabs, 15 abalones, 12 red snappers, 18 thick-cut fatty tuna bellies, 24 bottles of whiskey, and 53 gift baskets of caviar, scallops, and sea cucumber. Your total comes to 83,700 dollars."

Stanley tried desperately to maintain his composure while pushing me toward the front of the group. "We're Dylan's coworkers. You can talk to him—"

The man raised a hand, cutting him off. "I don't know any Dylan. I own this place. And you're the one who placed the order."

He looked at Stanley's rapidly paling face and let out a slow smile. "Now, pay up."