Chapter 3

"You're not coming back?" Maxwell's eyes widened in disbelief. "What the hell does that mean? Are you telling me that you're quitting right now?"

His voice rose another octave, drawing the attention of several nearby vendors. "Mitchell, you're just a lousy line cook! My dad took pity on you two losers and gave you a job in our restaurant. How can you be so ungrateful?"

I flicked the water off my hands and looked up. "Since we're just lousy line cooks, why are you getting your panties in a bunch?"

I paused for a beat before adding, "Unless... you're worried that your restaurant will tank without us?"

He immediately jeered. "You think our restaurant will tank without you? You seriously think way too highly of yourself, Mitchell!"

Then he waved his phone, his expression smug. "Let me let you in on a little secret. I've just received news that Mr. Henderson, the wealthy tycoon from Aqualis, is coming to dine at the best seafood restaurant in our city next week! The bill is going to be a whopping 90 grand! And he explicitly specified that it's the one run by our family!"

He raised his chin arrogantly. "Who else could that possibly be around here besides my dad's place? I was doing you a favor by letting you ride our coattails for a piece of the action. But if you want to turn your nose up at it, that's fine by me!"

Dad and I exchanged a look, and we shared a knowing smile. The deposit was already sitting in my bank account. How could I not know?

But I couldn't be bothered to set Maxwell straight. I merely nudged him out of the way and led Dad toward the next vendor.

"Get over yourselves!" he spat on the ground behind us. "Let's see how you come crying to my dad for your old jobs back when you run out of money next month!"

…

It didn't take us long to settle on the most unassuming stall in the entire market. The storefront was small and off the beaten path, a spot most people would just walk right past.

However, I had already clocked them. The seafood swimming in the owner's main tanks was top-of-the-line. Every single fish and crab was incredibly lively and plump, completely unlike the half-dead stock other vendors used to pad their inventory.

After chatting with the owner, Mr. Long, we learned that he also owned a ten-thousand-square-foot seafood warehouse just a stone's throw away, which meant that supply wouldn't be an issue at all. Both Dad and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Right as we were about to pay for the shipment, Maxwell materialized out of nowhere. He had obviously been tailing us. Standing beside the stall, his tone was laced with malice. "Wild yellow croaker? Rock lobster? Why are you ordering high-end seafood in bulk?"

He scanned the massive storage crates and scoffed. "Can you two even afford all these? Stop embarrassing yourselves in pub—"

Before he could finish his sentence, I whipped out my phone, lined it up with the QR code, and scanned it. "Payment of 39 thousand is successful."

Maxwell's jaw hit the floor. Neither Dad nor I spared him another glance. We quietly confirmed the delivery time and address with Mr. Long before turning on our heels and leaving. After all, we had to rush back to finalize the menu for Mr. Henderson's banquet.

That evening, Dad's phone rang. Uncle Malcolm was on the line. "I heard you guys dropped 39 grand on a bunch of seafood today?" he questioned right out of the gate. His tone was harsh, yet listening to his tone from next to Dad, I could easily pick up on the cracks in his armor.

Dad chuckled. "Yeah, we did, but what does that have to do with you?”

The line went quiet for a beat before Uncle Malcolm lost it. "Like I care what you losers do! I'm just calling to tell you that you've been replaced! The new guy only costs me four grand a month, and he can run circles around the two of you!

"Just you wait. Once we pull off Mr. Henderson's banquet next week, you're going to regret this for the rest of your lives!" With that, he hung up on us.

We found him hilarious. Chefs who handled seafood had to go through professional training. What kind of talent did he honestly think he was getting for four thousand dollars?

In the days that followed, Uncle Malcolm and his family kept bombarding us with pictures and clips. The videos showed their restaurant all decked out for the big day, with a massive, gold-embossed sign proudly displayed at the entrance. "Closed for VIP guests. No reservations available."

Dad and I took a look, and we both shook our heads.

…

Before long, the day of Mr. Henderson's arrival was here. 18 luxury cars rolled into the street in perfect, orderly formation.

Uncle Malcolm had been waiting at the entrance for ages. Dressed in a sharp, immaculate suit with a beaming smile plastered across his face, his eyes lit up the moment he spotted the convoy from a distance.

With his arms wide open, he marched out to greet them. "Mr. Henderson! Welcome, welcome! Our restaurant is fully prepared! 12 tables of seafood, and I assure you, it's only the finest, premium-grade catch. The presentation and execution are second to none—"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the driver of the lead car impatiently honked the horn. The car window rolled down slowly, and the driver poked his head out, scowling. "Since when did our CEO book a seafood banquet at your establishment? Our reservation is at Oceantis on East Street! The owner's a young man named Mitchell!"