The lawyer understood.
The CEO looked toward the diner.
“Send a neutral legal contact.”
“To him?”
“Yes.”
“Not me.”
The Single Dad received the call at 3:20 p.m.
He assumed it was another cancellation.
Instead, a woman introduced herself as outside counsel representing Halcyon Hospitality Group.
He almost hung up.
Then she said:
“We believe several recent business actions affecting your company may have been improperly influenced.”
He sat straighter.
“What does that mean?”
“We’d like permission to review the relevant contracts and communications.”
He stared at the wall.
“Who told you?”
“I’m not authorized to discuss the origin of the investigation.”
The Single Dad laughed bitterly.
“Then no.”
Silence.
“No?”
“Your company is connected to the man who did this.”
“We believe so.”
“So now the same company wants my paperwork?”
“That’s correct.”
He stood.
“No.”
The lawyer remained calm.
“You’re entitled to independent counsel.”
“I can’t afford independent counsel.”
“If you choose, the company can reimburse reasonable—”
He laughed again.
“Absolutely not.”
The lawyer stopped.
The Single Dad continued.
“Your company destroys my contracts overnight, then offers to pay the lawyer who tells me whether I should trust your company?”
“That is a fair concern.”
He was surprised by the answer.
The lawyer continued.
“I can send the request in writing.”
“You can review it with anyone you trust.”
“You are not required to participate.”
“If evidence establishes improper interference without your documents, we may contact you again.”
The Single Dad sat.
“Who started this investigation?”
The lawyer paused.
“I cannot say.”
He thought of the diner.
The waitress.
Emily.
No.
Impossible.
He dismissed it.
“Send the letter.”
“Thank you.”
The call ended.
His lead technician walked in.
“What was that?”
The Single Dad looked toward him.
“Apparently rich people discovered ethics.”
The technician laughed.
“Should we be worried?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
That evening, the Single Dad returned to Henderson’s.
Alone.
His daughter was staying with his sister.
He told himself he came because he wanted to speak with the diner owner.
That was partly true.
The Waitress was behind the counter.
Navy uniform.
White apron.
Blonde hair pinned up.
She saw him.
Stopped.
Their eyes met across the diner.
The Single Dad walked toward her.
“Emily.”
Something in his tone told her immediately.
He knew something.
Not everything.
She approached.
“What happened?”
“You tell me.”
Her pulse changed.
“About?”
He placed a business card on the counter.
Outside counsel.
Halcyon Hospitality Group.
The Woman looked at it.
Then at him.
“Where did you get this?”
“Lawyer called.”
“About my contracts.”
She remained silent.
The Single Dad watched her.
“Interesting timing.”
“Yes.”
“Very.”
He leaned closer.
“Who are you?”
The question arrived calmly.
That made lying harder.
The Woman looked toward the diner owner.
He was watching.
The Single Dad followed her gaze.
Then back.
“Emily?”
The owner accidentally said:
“Claire.”
Silence.
The Single Dad slowly turned toward him.
The owner looked horrified.
The Woman closed her eyes.
Then removed the fake name tag.
She placed it on the counter.