Chapter 2

Melanie strutted out behind Maxwell. "Uncle Michael," she called out before shoving a stack of ledgers right into Dad's arms.

Her voice was sharp and piercing. "I knew you wouldn't let this go! Did you conveniently forget that it cost us a pretty penny when you injured your eye and had to be hospitalized? That was an injury sustained after working hours, so that was entirely on you.

"We did you a massive favor by covering it under workers' comp, and now you're complaining that the bonus we gave you is too little? How can you two be so ungrateful?"

After hearing that, Dad instinctively raised his hand to touch his eye, which was now permanently clouded over. "How could you…"

I remembered that night vividly. Dad had seen a bad review online claiming that our food tasted different. Unable to let it go, he had dragged me out in the pouring rain, and we rode his electric scooter all the way back to the restaurant, only to discover that a gas valve was broken.

If the temperature of the heat wasn't just right, the flavor of the dishes would inevitably be affected. Without a moment of hesitation, he had rolled up his sleeves to fix it, but an old, cracked hose suddenly snapped out and struck him right in the eye.

I'd hurriedly called Uncle Malcolm, only for him to go silent for two seconds before fuming, "You brought this on yourselves, so it has nothing to do with us. Hurry up and clean the kitchen, you hear me? If people see blood all over the floor, we're definitely going to get hit with a health code violation!"

After hearing that, Dad had patted my hand and said, "Your uncle's right. It was my own carelessness. Let's not trouble them." By the time we'd made it to the hospital, he had already lost 80% of the vision in that eye.

"Uncle Michael." Maxwell's mocking voice snapped me back to reality. "Let's be real, a one-eyed chef like you would be lucky to make three grand a month. My dad's pretty darn generous for giving you 7.5 thousand dollars, don't you think?" With that, he left with Melanie without so much as a backward glance.

After the siblings left, Dad fell silent for a moment. Then, he suddenly squared his shoulders and locked eyes with me. "I'm going to sell that two-bedroom apartment your grandfather left us, Mitch. I don't care if we're putting all our eggs in one basket; we're going to shove this right back in their faces!"

That apartment was handed down to us when Grandfather passed away. Grandfather had given the largest four-bedroom unit in the city center to Uncle Malcolm, while this smaller one had gone to Dad. It was probably from that moment onward that Uncle Malcolm began to think Dad was spineless and a pushover.

But it didn't matter anymore. Now, we would use this very apartment to stage the ultimate comeback!

…

The moment we returned home, we listed the apartment overnight for 75 grand—well below market value—with the sole condition that it had to be an immediate payment fully in cash. In less than half a day, it was successfully sold.

Right after that, we took out all the hard-earned savings we'd scraped together over the years, cobbling together a total of 120 grand. It was just enough to buy the lot, purchasing equipment, hiring workers, and sourcing ingredients.

When the dust finally settled on all of it, three days had already passed.

Right as I was busy following up on the new store's setup, a customer, William Henderson, suddenly gave me a phone call.

Two years ago, he had dined at our restaurant and ordered nothing but premium seafood, racking up a bill of over 7.5 grand in a single evening. After his meal, he had actually asked someone to come into the back kitchen to ask for my contact information. In fact, there had been quite a few customers like him who had added my contact information, but I had never expected any of them to actually call me.

Without thinking too much about it, I answered the call. Mr. Henderson began, "Mr. Caldwell, is your restaurant still operating? I'll be coming to your city next week for a conference, and I'm planning to book your entire restaurant to host my business partners. We're looking at about more or less 100 people. I was wondering if you could accommodate us."

One hundred people meant at least 12 tables. Based on his usual dining standards, this single order would generate 90 grand in revenue. I took a deep breath. "Mr. Henderson, to be completely honest with you, I've left that establishment to start my own venture. It just so happens that my grand opening is next week. If you don't mind—"

He cut me off with a hearty laugh. "To be frank, I've always thought that the service at that old place was subpar, so I'm glad to hear that you've started your own establishment! At the end of the day, I only ever cared about your culinary skills. So, of course I don't mind! Send me the location, and I'll wire you a 45-thousand-dollar down payment upfront!"

Not long after I wrapped up the call, the 45 grand hit my account. Staring at the string of numbers, a wave of adrenaline surged through my veins.

Time was ticking, so I took Dad to the city's largest seafood market that very day to scout for suppliers. Since we were looking for a long-term partnership, we needed someone who was both stable and provided excellent-quality goods.

Just then, Maxwell's voice rang out behind us. "Mitchell, you're supposed to be slaving away at the restaurant today. What are you doing here? Don't you know that we're open for business again today? It's a total madhouse!"

Ignoring him, I turned around to plunge my hand into the tank to carefully inspect the quality of the livestock at the bottom. Maxwell froze for a second before raising his voice. "Mitchell Caldwell, I'm talking to you! You're nothing but a lousy chef; hurry up and get back to work!"

Dad shot him a cold look. "Maxwell, head back and tell your dad that we aren't returning."