Chapter 2
I couldn’t get out of that meeting fast enough. I didn’t care what the topic was; there was no reason any meeting should last three hours. I speedwalked to the cafeteria, pretending not to hear anyone who called my name.
Sweet, Savory, and Goode may have been my family's company, but the kitchen opened twice a day, once for breakfast and once for lunch, closing for a few hours between the two. When it closed, it remained closed until it was time to reopen again.
When I arrived at the cafeteria, a small crowd was gathered around one of the tables. I approached to find out what the fuss was about and noticed what looked like mini cheesecakes on the table.
“What’s all the commotion over here?” I asked.
We had a fairly relaxed atmosphere in the building, so the employees weren’t alarmed when they realized I’d joined them because everyone was comfortable around me.
“Hey, Mr. Goode! Try one of these cheesecakes,” someone said.
“They must be good with the way everyone is swooning over them.”
I picked one of them up and removed the plastic wrap. After grabbing a small plastic spoon from the bowl in the center of the table, I scooped a spoonful into my mouth. My eyes widened as soon as the flavor hit my tongue.
Like most Black people did when something tasted exceptionally good, I looked at the mini cheesecake for an explanation as to why it tasted so unbelievably good.
“Where’d these come from?” I asked before eating another spoonful.
“If we tell you, we’ll have to kill you,” someone else said, causing everyone else to laugh.
“No, seriously. Who made these?” I asked again.
“We’re sworn to secrecy, Mr. Goode. We have to get back to work. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
The crowd scattered like roaches, leaving me virtually alone in the cafeteria.
I looked around, and a few people were seated at the tables, finishing their lunch.
I rushed to grab my lunch before the doors closed, and while chatting with the servers, I tried to get some intel on the person who made the cheesecakes.
“Margaret, are you the one responsible for those delicious cheesecakes out there?” I asked.
She smiled. “Unfortunately, Mr. Goode, I’m not, and before you ask me who is, I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
“You and everyone else, apparently.”
“That’s right. The person responsible for that delicious treat doesn’t want to get in trouble, and we all promised to keep their identity a secret.”
“I find it hard to believe that so many of you are able to keep a secret like that.”
“Only a handful of us know who it is. Everyone else only thinks they know.”
“When you talk to this person again, please have them connect with me. I promise they aren’t in trouble.”
“I will relay the message. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You too, Margaret.”
After grabbing the last two mini cheesecakes from the table, I went to my office to enjoy my lunch. When I finished eating, I went through the documents on my desk until it was time to head home.
For all intents and purposes, I ran the family business, Sweet, Savory, and Goode. On paper, my father, Kenzo II, was still the CEO, but he was months away from retirement and worked from home most days.
My grandfather, the original Kenzo, founded the company with my grandmother, Millie, who passed away about six years ago.
He loved to bake, and she encouraged him to sell some of his items to their neighbors.
Word traveled to other blocks in their southside neighborhood, and before long, people from all over the city were placing orders.
She was good with numbers and handled the business side of things while my grandfather did all the baking. Most people considered their dynamic untraditional, but it worked well for them. Eventually, they bought a storefront, then another, and the business continued to expand.
Today, we had twenty thriving locations across Illinois, with five in the Chicagoland area. The decision to keep all our locations in Illinois was intentional, and we had no immediate plans to set up shop in any other states.
We were very popular among professional athletes and entertainers in Illinois and other states, and we were hired for events of all kinds, so expanding right now wasn’t a priority, and I wasn’t sure it ever would be.
Our shops did extremely well and made our family millions, but money wasn’t our main focus. It was more important for us to produce good, quality desserts and maintain a pleasant work environment for our employees.
When I made it home, I pulled into my spot in our six-car garage. At thirty-four years of age, I still lived in our family home with no plans to move out. I was an only child, single, and had no children. It made no sense to move away from my family and waste money paying to live elsewhere.
The mini mansion we lived in was located in Orland Park, a Southwest suburb of Chicago, and it had more than enough room for the four of us.
We had six bedrooms, all with their own bathrooms, and a full two-bedroom apartment in the basement, which was where I resided, so I had plenty of space and privacy.
We lived in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Chicago until my junior year of college, when my parents bought this house.
My cousin, Ronin, gave me shit about still living in my family home all the time, but I gave zero fucks.
When I wanted pussy, I got a hotel room, or we went to her place.
Other than that, I didn’t think it was necessary to live anywhere but here.
I entered the house through the side entrance, which led to my apartment. After changing into more comfortable clothing, I grabbed the cheesecakes and headed upstairs to the main part of the house. I went to the kitchen, where I knew I’d find everyone at this hour.
“Hey, Ma, Pop, Gramps.” I greeted everyone before leaving a kiss on each of their cheeks.
My immediate family was close and had always been very affectionate. Ronin’s father was my mother’s only sibling, and he passed away years ago, when Ronin and I were in our twenties.
My father was an only child, and at eighty-five, Gramps was the youngest and last of his siblings still living. He had a few nephews and nieces who kept in touch, but they were getting up in age, so we didn’t see them often.
“How was work today, Son?” my mother asked as she stood at the stove.
“The meeting this morning was a lot longer than necessary, but there was a lot to be covered. I was able to get some work done this afternoon, though.”
“Did you get a chance to look at the proposal from Kobe Mills?” my father asked.
Gramps and my father were at the kitchen table, sipping on something brown that I was sure wasn’t tea.
“I did, and it looks good. There was one line item I wanted to discuss with him, but I don’t see any reason why we can’t do business with them.”
Kobe Mills was a Black-owned flour manufacturing company.
From the moment Sweet, Savory, and Goode was founded, my grandparents were intentional about using Black-owned companies for as many of their products as possible.
Back then, it wasn’t easy, and honestly, it wasn’t much easier now, but we did our best.
“They’re good people, and if we use them, it will help build their credibility with other companies,” Gramps said.
“I know, and I’m ninety-eight percent sure he’s our guy. I have a conference call set up for tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” my father and grandfather said simultaneously.
“Hey, I was able to grab the last two cheesecakes from the cafeteria for y’all to taste. I’ve never had cheesecake this good.”
“Oh really?” Gramps questioned with a raised brow.
“No offense, Gramps, but this cheesecake gives yours a run for its money. Try it.”
I placed the mini cheesecakes on the table and went to the drawer where the silverware was kept and grabbed three spoons. After giving one to each of them, I waited for their reaction.
My mother was the first to try it, and as soon as she closed her mouth over the spoon, she closed her eyes and released a deep breath.
“My goodness. That is delicious,” she praised.
My father dipped his spoon into the one my mother had tried, while my grandfather dipped his into the one that hadn’t been touched.
I watched my grandfather intently because he didn’t play when it came to desserts. If something got his approval, it was damn good.
“Mmm. That is good,” my father commented as he and my mother finished off the rest of the cheesecake.
My grandfather hadn’t commented yet, but when he picked up the tiny aluminum dish and cleaned it, I knew he enjoyed it.
“Where did you say you got this from?” Gramps asked.
“The cafeteria. When I went to lunch, a group of people was gathered around one of the tables. They scattered when I arrived, but there were three cheesecakes left. After tasting it, I tried to find out who was responsible, but apparently, the entire staff was sworn to secrecy.”
“What do you mean they’re sworn to secrecy?” Pops questioned.
“Whoever made them made everyone promise not to mention them.”
“We can always check the cameras, but I wonder why the person wants to remain unknown,” Gramps said.
“You can have security—” Pops began.
“Nah. I’ll do some digging and see what I can find.”
“You do that, Grandson. Whoever it is has a talent that needs to be tapped into. Let me know what you find out.”
“I sure will. Ma, whatever you’re cooking smells good,” I said, looking over her shoulder.
My mother, Dinah, was a corporate attorney and retired a little over a year ago.
Before my grandmother passed away, she and my grandfather alternated preparing most of our meals because they were home all day.
After she died, my grandfather wasn’t motivated to get in the kitchen as much, so we hired a chef who comes a few days each week.