Carl’s face turned a shade I had never seen before. “That’s—no. That’s impossible. I—”
James’s tone stayed calm, but each word landed like a gavel. “Riverside Diner is part of Harrison Hospitality Group. My company.”
Carl swallowed hard. “Mr. Harrison, I—I didn’t recognize you.”
James’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No. You recognized exactly what you wanted to recognize.”
Silence.
James stepped forward, not aggressive, just certain.
“I come here sometimes,” he continued, voice steady. “Not because I need food. Because I need to see how my businesses treat people when they think no one important is watching.”
Carl’s hands began to shake. “I can explain—”
James lifted a hand. “You already did.”
He turned his gaze to me.
And suddenly I felt exposed, like the whole room was waiting for me to speak.
“You,” James said gently, “what’s your name?”
“Emily,” I whispered. My throat felt too tight.
He nodded once, as if confirming something. “Emily, you fed someone you thought had nothing to offer you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell if I was about to cry or laugh or faint.
James turned back to Carl.
“Carl Whitman,” he said, reading the name tag like it was a record. “You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
Carl’s face collapsed. “Please—Mr. Harrison—please, I have a family, I—”
James didn’t blink. “So do the people you humiliate. So do the employees you threaten. So do the customers you turn away because they don’t look profitable enough.”
Carl’s eyes darted to the crowd like he expected someone to defend him.
No one did.
James nodded toward the sandwich on the floor. “Pick it up.”
Carl hesitated.
James’s voice sharpened just slightly. “Now.”
