“Sir… what are you saying?” Julian stammered, a tremor entering his voice, the blood draining from his face. “You can’t… that’s impossible…”
I held up one finger, a silent, absolute command to be silent. He stopped talking instantly, his mouth hanging slightly open.
“That’s right, Alex. The entire lease,” I said into the phone, for his benefit. “Unless…”
I locked eyes with the manager, who was now visibly trembling, his carefully constructed facade of superiority completely shattered. His breathing was shallow, ragged.
“…the manager, a man named Julian, is fired. Immediately. I want him escorted out of this building in the next 10 minutes. Thank you.”
I hung up.
Julian dropped the heavy, leather-bound menus he was holding. The solid “THUD” echoed in the marble-floored lobby. Every conversation around us stopped. All eyes were on us.
“No… it’s impossible,” he whispered, sweat beading on his forehead, his face the color of ash. “This building… this is the Hayes Corporation tower… You… you can’t be… you’re David Hayes?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I just watched him, letting the full, crushing weight of his catastrophic mistake settle upon him.
Part 5: The New Order
It didn’t take thirty seconds. The ornate doors to the inner office burst open. A man in a much more expensive, impeccably tailored suit—the actual owner or a senior partner of the Sterling Group—sprinted out. His phone was pressed to his ear, his face as white as a sheet, his eyes wide with a terror that was almost comical.
“Mr. Hayes! Oh my God, Mr. Hayes! My most sincere and profound apologies!” he nearly shouted, his voice a frantic, high-pitched squeak. “A terrible, terrible misunderstanding! Julian! YOU’RE FIRED! GET YOUR THINGS! GET OUT!”
Julian stood frozen, as if struck by lightning, a statue of ruined ambition.
The other man frantically ended his call and bowed toward me, a gesture so deep it was almost a full prostration. “Mr. Hayes, I am so sorry. We had no idea… The Senator’s table… we will move him immediately. The best table in the house, the private dining room, it is yours, of course! Anything you want! On the house!”
I shook my head, a wave of disappointment washing over me. The magic of the place was gone, tainted by the ugliness of its gatekeeper.
“No,” I said, my voice quiet again. “Let the Senator keep his table. He’s a guest. He did nothing wrong.”
I turned to Julian, who was still paralyzed by the sheer, brutal velocity of his own downfall. “You made two mistakes tonight. You judged me by my cover, which was foolish. But more importantly,” I looked at Emily, who was standing in a state of beautiful, bewildered shock, “you upset my wife. And that is unforgivable.”
I smiled at Emily, taking her hand in mine. “Let’s go, honey.”
I led her away, leaving the chaos, the fired manager, and the bowing, desperate owner in our wake.
Part 6: The Lesson on “Important Guests”
Een half uur later waren we in een klein, onopvallend Italiaans restaurant in onze buurt. Het was knus, een beetje luid op een vrolijke, gezinsvriendelijke manier, en het had de beste, meest authentieke carbonara van de stad. Het was onze echte favoriete plek, de plek waar we op onze tweede date waren geweest.
Emily was nog steeds bezig met het verwerken, keek me aan alsof het voor het eerst was. Ze keek me aan over het kaarslicht van ons geruite tafelkleed.
« David… Jij bent de eigenaar van dat gebouw? Die hele wolkenkrabber? Jij bent ‘de’ David Hayes van Hayes Corporation? Waarom heb je het me nooit verteld? »
Ik reikte over de tafel en pakte haar hand, een hand die eeltig was van jaren van het nakijken van papieren en het troosten van kinderen. « Het is maar een investering, lieverd. Een hoop beton en staal. Het is niet belangrijk. Het is niet wie ik ben. Wie ik ben is jouw man, de man die meer van je houdt dan van wat dan ook. »
Ik nam een slok van de eenvoudige, eerlijke huisrode wijn.
