CHAPTER 42 #2
“Fine,” Charles spat. He shoved his chair back and stood.
Apparently, he no longer cared about making a scene, but he paused to address Neal before he left.
“You have no idea what it’s like,” he said, his voice bitter.
“You have no idea how hard it is to always be second best. To try and try and still fall short. We became CEOs around the same time, and I had to watch you soar effortlessly while I played catch-up. It was humiliating.”
Neal’s face clouded. “You don’t know me or what I’ve gone through to get to where I am,” he said evenly. “Everyone faces obstacles. Everyone experiences failure. That isn’t an excuse to cheat because your ego can’t handle losing fairly.”
“Spare me your self-righteousness. At least I knew when to pivot. The regular methods weren’t working, so I employed more… creative tactics. And they worked. In another year or two, we would’ve beaten you as market leader.”
“You would’ve done so via fraud and sabotage.” Neal’s eyes flashed, but his voice was low and controlled. “That’s not real victory.”
“Winning is winning, no matter the means,” Charles said coldly. “That’s what you don’t get.”
“And yet, you haven’t won, have you?” I drawled.
I’d had enough of Whitaker’s attempts at justification.
He could shovel his bullshit until he was blue in the face, but when it came down to it, he was nothing more than a cheater and a sore loser.
People like him didn’t deserve our respect or energy.
“By the way, we forgot to mention that you’ll cover all costs and expenses for our second launch event since you sabotaged our first one.
Thank you in advance for your contribution. I hear it’s a big one.”
Charles glared down at me, his eyes blazing with resentment. My bored interjection seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. “Fine,” he spat again. He stormed off, leaving a buzz of excited speculation in his wake.
“That,” Neal said, “was incredibly satisfying.”
My father made a noise of agreement.
“Are we worried he’ll try to do something stupid over the weekend?” Maya asked.
“No. I have Harper keeping an eye on him until after the press conference,” I said. “Besides, we want to give people time to do their thing.”
This particular steakhouse wasn’t part of my family’s portfolio, but I’d chosen it because it was a notorious hotspot for journalists and other media power players on Friday nights.
We were seated at the coveted center table, which was isolated enough from the other diners to ensure a private conversation.
However, eating here also meant being in the spotlight.
That had been part of the plan as well. I’d wanted all eyes on us when we confronted Charles. The journalists here couldn’t resist a good story, and Charles Whitaker eating dinner with his disgraced competitors, only to storm off halfway through, must be a good story.
We didn’t have to leak anything to anyone; they’d uncover the truth themselves. We’d left some clues to help them along, but in the meantime, I was looking forward to Charles’s press conference. It was going to be a great show.
Normally, I wasn’t a vindictive person, but he deserved every bit of retribution thrown his way. When I thought about the launch—when I remembered how sick people had gotten and how I’d spiraled, thinking it was my fault—I was gripped by a fury so intense, I almost choked on it.
I drew a calming breath of air into my lungs and forced my fists to unclench as Neal motioned the server for a menu. He looked happier than I’d seen him in months. “Now that that’s over, I could use a bite to eat,” he said. “I’m famished.”
My father rolled his eyes. “It’s a steakhouse, Neal. What could you possibly eat here besides the potatoes?”
“The macaroni and cheese. The broccoli. The—”
“Oh, please. Side dishes? You’re going to eat a bunch of side dishes for dinner?”
Maya kicked me lightly under the table as our fathers continued to bicker. I inclined my head, acknowledging her unspoken exclamation.
They’re talking to each other again!
Our fathers were technically still fighting, but when we’d told them about Whitaker’s sabotage, they hadn’t hesitated to join forces to take him down.
That had been business. This? This sounded the banter between friends.
They appeared to have reached the same conclusion because their conversation abruptly ended.
After a tense pause, Neal spoke again, his voice stiff.
“Thank you for your help tonight, but it doesn’t change what you did.
This was a temporary pause in our rift, nothing more.
” He set his menu down without ordering and rose to leave.
To my surprise, my father stopped him. “Wait,” he said. “Sit down. There’s something I have to tell you.” He glanced at me. “All of you.”
Neal’s curiosity must’ve overtaken his pride because he sat back down without argument.
My father took a deliberate sip of his wine before he continued.
“It’s time I shared the truth behind why I took that dinner with Whitaker,” he said.
“It wasn’t because I was trying to network with him or have a foot in both boats, so to speak.
It’s because he promised to tell me what really happened at Le Boudoir. ”
My head snapped up. That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.
Neal and Maya looked equally befuddled.
Adrenaline surged in my veins, but I fought to keep my voice calm. “What do you mean, what really happened?”
My father flicked his eyes around the room. The other diners had returned to their meals, their interest in us gone now that Charles wasn’t here to pique their curiosity.
“Whitaker said he’d discovered the real cause behind Martin Wellgrew’s death,” he said.
“I thought he was full of shit, but I also knew Wellgrew’s passing has weighed heavily on you all these years, so I agreed to one meal.
” My father directed that statement toward me.
“It was a trap. When I got there, he told me he’d only share what he found if I fed him insider information about Singh Foods.
Everyone knows Neal and I are close friends, and he sought to exploit that relationship by using Le Boudoir as leverage.
Obviously, I said no.” He glanced at Neal, who stiffened.
“However, Whitaker dropped enough hints during our conversation to give me a lead. I hired my own investigator to look into the incident. It took a while. Wellgrew died years ago, and whoever killed him covered their tracks well. But eventually, my guy dug up the truth.”
Claws sank into my stomach. It was plunging into free fall, every shred of certainty I’d hung myself on crumbling like sandcastles in the tide.
“Martin Wellgrew didn’t die of anaphylactic shock from a peanut allergy,” my father said, his gaze steady on mine.
“Someone poisoned him. Whatever they used mimicked anaphylactic shock to a tee. I couldn’t find the person responsible, but I know for a fact that it wasn’t you.
You had nothing to do with his death. It wasn’t your fault. ”
His assurance rang in my ears.
It wasn’t your fault.
If I weren’t sitting, I would’ve stumbled to my knees. The anxiety, the sleepless nights, the guilt that had plagued me for years—all the result of a lie.
My chest loosened, and a blinding wave of relief crashed over me.
I’d never been so fucking grateful to have been wrong.
“Oh.” I couldn’t summon a better response.
Maya reached for me, her eyes shining with concern. I shook my head, reminding her that our parents still didn’t know we were dating.
She pulled back, but her frown lingered until I gave her a reassuring nod.
I was fine. I just needed time to process.
This evening was turning out to be an even bigger mindfuck than I’d anticipated.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Neal demanded, his face etched with disbelief. “I would’ve understood. I wouldn’t have—dammit, Michel, I wouldn’t have accused you of betraying me if I’d known.”
“I had to make sure Whitaker wasn’t lying first.” My father’s gaze slid to me again.
“I didn’t want to give anyone false hope in case he was.
Plus, I was insulted you’d think I’d choose Whitaker over our friendship.
” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The man can’t even properly pair wine with his steak.
He asked for a chardonnay with his filet. ”
Neal snorted. “I don’t eat steak, and even I know that’s a travesty.”
“Exactly!”
And just like that, the cold war between them was over.
Maya and I didn’t speak for most of dinner. We let our fathers catch up, their conversation meandering from business matters to bullshit about other Valhalla Club members. But every so often, I’d catch her eye, she’d smile, and that was enough—for now.
After dinner, my father and I parted ways with the Singhs. I asked him to walk with me to Madison Square Park, and we fell silent as the city’s energy pulsed around us.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?” The headlights of a passing cab swept across us, illuminating my father’s frown.
“Why did you almost ruin your friendship with Neal for me?”
He scoffed. “What a ridiculous question. You’re my son. I did what I had to do.”
“You could’ve gone about it in an easier way. If you’d told him the truth, he would’ve kept your secret. I wouldn’t have known.”
“I didn’t want to risk it.” He rolled his shoulders. “What’s done is done. There’s no use playing the what-if game.”
“I don’t get you.” I stopped to face him, frustration creeping up my neck.
“One minute, you’re the father who’s sneering at my dreams of becoming a chef and trying to discourage me every chance you get.
The next, you’re sacrificing a lifelong friendship to…
what? Make me feel better about the one thing that might’ve convinced me not to be a chef? ”
Dealing with my father was like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I never knew which version I was getting.
“People are complicated creatures,” he said with another shrug. “They can be many things at the same time.”
“Don’t feed me that cryptic bullshit.” My teeth ground together.
I wanted to scream. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to me running a kitchen if you knew—if you suspected—Wellgrew’s death wasn’t my fault.
I get that toiling in a restaurant isn’t the same as signing fucking papers in the C-suite, but you built your empire off restaurants.
You, of all people, should respect the work that goes into it. ”
“Of course I respect it! That’s exactly why I don’t want you there!
” My father finally exploded. He glared at me, his nostrils flaring as he switched to French.
“The food world is cutthroat. So is the corporate world, but you’ve proven you can handle it.
You haven’t proven you can handle the pressure that comes with being a chef.
I remember how devastated you were after Wellgrew’s death.
I remember finding out my only son was in a fucking jail cell in Prague.
One incident, and you spiraled so hard that I woke up every morning wondering if that was the day I’d get a phone call telling me you were dead.
” His jaw locks into a sharp line. “I’m not saying you didn’t have a good reason for feeling the way you did, but that’s part of the job.
What happens the next time someone gets sick at your restaurant or has an allergic reaction?
Those instances are rare, but they happen.
I couldn’t see you break again. The kitchen is unpredictable.
But the office? It’s safe. I was trying to protect you. ”
Our breaths sounded too loud in the sudden stillness. A car honked in the distance; a passing subway rumbled beneath a nearby station. It was nighttime, but the lights were bright, so bright it almost hurt my eyes to look at them.
I was reeling again, my mind trying to jam his explanation into a different jigsaw puzzle than the one I’d spent years building.
I hated that he made sense. I hated how perfectly his fears mirrored mine—the fear of accidentally hurting someone and not being tough enough to handle it. I thought I had thick skin, but what if I didn’t? What if I put myself out there and the experience flayed me alive?
The possibility kept me up at night, but it didn’t compare to my fear of being stuck in perpetual limbo.
I didn’t want to go through the motions of life, merely existing.
I wanted to feel. Perhaps I’d be the worst chef to hit the kitchen since kitchens were invented, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried.
“Maybe that’s true, but no one has ever made their mark on the world by playing it safe,” I said.
“I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t handle Wellgrew’s death well, but that was a lesson I needed to learn.
I can’t hide away in an office my entire life because I’m afraid of what’s outside.
Even if I fail, I have to try. You have to let me try. ”
I didn’t yell or curse him out. I stated the truth, and hopefully, that was enough.
My father’s nostrils flared again. Taut silence stretched between us, but then his jaw clenched, and I knew I’d won.
Maybe he was as tired of fighting as I was. Or maybe, just maybe, he heard me… and he understood.
“We’ll discuss after the second launch event,” he said, switching back to English. “I assume you’ll want a new contract with new terms.”
“No contract. I’ll take you at your word.”
It was my peace offering. It was also a big gamble on my part, but trust ran both ways.
Surprise and a touch of respect flickered across my father’s face before he shut it down. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “If you pull off the second launch, the terms from our original contract stand.”
“Deal.”
We shook on it.
Unlike the first time we negotiated this deal, my focus wasn’t on planning a flawless event to spite my father because it was never really about him.
I didn’t have to prove my worth to him.
I had to prove it to myself.