“I own the Obsidian Group,” I said. “I am the majority shareholder and Executive Chef of four of the top restaurants in this city. Lumière is my flagship. I opened it three years ago under a pseudonym because I wanted the food to speak for itself. I wanted to see if I could succeed without your family’s money or your ‘connections’.”
I pointed to the gravy boat.
“And this ‘dog food’?” I said to Chloe. “This is the Truffle Demi-Glace that won Lumière its third Michelin star last month. Food & Wine magazine called it ‘liquid gold’. But apparently, to the Prescott palate, it tastes like old socks.”
“No,” Chloe shook her head. “You’re lying. You scrub floors! You wear sweatpants!”
“I wear sweatpants because I stand on my feet for sixteen hours a day running a business worth twenty million dollars,” I snapped. “I scrub floors because a good leader never asks her team to do something she wouldn’t do herself. Concepts you wouldn’t understand, Chloe, because you’ve never worked a day in your life.”
David stood up. He looked pale. “Elena… you own Lumière? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried,” I said. “Remember our anniversary? I told you I got a ‘promotion’. You told me it was cute that I was moving up from dishwasher. You never listened. You never asked. You just assumed I was beneath you.”
“But… the money?” Beatrice asked, her eyes lighting up with greed even in her shock. “If you own these places, you must be…”
“Rich?” I finished for her. “Yes, Beatrice. Very. I bought this house, David. I paid off the mortgage two years ago. I let you think you were paying it because your ego couldn’t handle the truth.”
The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t confused. It was terrified. They realized the magnitude of their mistake. They realized that the “servant” they had been mocking held the keys to the kingdom they were desperate to enter.
