communications team.
I did not want a seat at their table anymore.
“I want written confirmation that Harrison Hospitality has no claim to Ember & Vine, its recipes, its branding, or any future location,” I said.
“I want every mock-up and presentation using my company destroyed.
I want your board informed that the authorization was invalid.
And I want reimbursement for the legal and forensic costs caused by your attempt to enforce it.”
Richard glanced at Lena.
“And if I refuse?”
“The forged document goes to law enforcement tomorrow morning,” she said.
“The board receives the full file at nine.
Several reporters already know there is a dispute involving unauthorized use of a Michelin-starred restaurant’s brand.
They do not yet have names.”
Brooke inhaled sharply.
“You called reporters?”
“No,” Miriam said.
“Your design agency did.
They pitched the development using Ava’s reputation before securing permission.
One journalist contacted us for confirmation.”
Brooke turned on Noah.
“You said the signature was legitimate.”
“I thought Ava would come around.”
“You told me she had already agreed.”
“Because you kept saying the announcement had to happen before the Michelin list came out.”
“You were the one who said she’d be easier to manage after the publicity!”
The accusation came out too quickly.
Brooke froze.
Noah stared at her.
Richard closed his eyes for one brief moment.
Lena’s phone lay faceup beside her folder, its recording indicator glowing red.
Illinois law and the restaurant’s posted security policy had been reviewed before the dinner.
Everyone entering the private business meeting had also signed a standard acknowledgment at reception because confidential company matters would be discussed.
Brooke saw the phone.
“Are you recording us?”
“The meeting is being documented,” Lena said.
Brooke stood so abruptly that her chair struck the table behind her.
“This is entrapment.”
“No,” I said.
“It is dinner.
You brought the threat.”
She grabbed her purse and looked toward Richard, expecting him to order everyone into submission.
He did not.
He was still reading the board notice.
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.
“Sit down, Brooke.”
She remained standing.
“The company account,” he said.
“How much?”
Her mouth opened, but no answer came.
Miriam supplied the number.
It was more than the opening payroll for Ember & Vine’s first month.
Elaine covered her lips.
Richard looked older than he had when he entered the restaurant.
The promotion party was only part of the problem.
Brooke had charged private travel, styling expenses, and consulting payments to the same project.
The consultant receiving those payments was a company registered to one of her close friends.
None of that had anything to do with me, but the invoices had traveled with the pressure campaign attached to my restaurant.
By trying to claim Ember & Vine, Brooke had opened the door to her own records.
Richard turned to Miriam.
“Give me until morning.”
“You have until the end of dinner,” she said.
He looked at me, perhaps expecting me to soften the demand.
I lifted my water glass.
“The lemon tart is next,” I said.
“It’s Elaine’s favorite.”
My mother-in-law flinched.
Months earlier, I had ordered that tart for opening night because I wanted her to feel seen.
She had left it untouched while celebrating Brooke across town.
Tonight, the pastry chef served it
