Tonight, the tension was higher than usual. The manager, Cynthia Davies, was vibrating with nervous energy. “Thorne is here. Table seven. Do not,” she stressed, her eyes narrowing at Gwen, “make any mistakes. He’s particular.” Gwen knew the name. Marcus Thorne, a tech mogul, a titan of industry, a man whose face was plastered on business magazines with headlines like The Predator of Silicon Valley. He was known for his hostile takeovers and his complete lack of patience for human failing. Gwen smoothed her apron, took a deep breath, and grabbed her silver tray.
Table seven was in the best corner, a semi-private alcove overlooking the park. As she approached, she saw him. Marcus Thorne was exactly as advertised. Sharp suit, expensive watch, and a face that looked carved from granite. He was scrolling aggressively through his phone, a deep furrow between his brows. But he was not alone. Seated across from him, looking impossibly small in the large, plush chair, was a young boy. He could not have been more than eight or nine, with his father’s dark hair, but a completely different energy. Where Marcus was a storm of contained rage, the boy was a pool of absolute stillness. He held a leather-bound drawing pad and a pencil, his eyes fixed on the blank page, a half-finished sketch of a dragon visible. He seemed utterly disconnected from the opulent room, lost in his own world.
Gwen approached. “Good evening, Mr. Thorne. Gentlemen, my name is Gwen, and I will be your server. May I start you with some water? Still or sparkling?” Marcus did not look up. He waved a dismissive hand. “Sparkling. And we’ll order now. I have a call in thirty.” He finally put his phone down with a sharp clack on the table, making the boy flinch. “And for the young gentleman?” Gwen asked, her voice soft, directed at the boy. Leo, she would later learn his name was Leo, did not respond. He did not even look up from his drawing pad. “He can’t hear you,” Marcus snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance. “He’s deaf. I’ll order for him. He’ll have the pan-seared salmon and a glass of apple juice.”
Gwen nodded, her professional smile locked in place, but her gaze lingered on Leo. The boy was now staring at his father, his eyes wide, and he shook his head in a tiny, almost imperceptible motion. He tapped his drawing pad. “What now?” Marcus sighed, rubbing his temples. “The salmon is fine, Leo. It’s healthy.” Leo shook his head again, more firmly this time. He picked up the menu, a massive leather-bound tome, and his small hands struggled to open it. He pointed to something, his finger jabbing at the page. “The what?” Marcus squinted. “The gourmet cheeseburger. Absolutely not. We are not paying ninety dollars for a hamburger, and you are not eating that junk. You’ll have the salmon.” Leo’s face crumbled. He slammed the menu shut, the sound echoing in the alcove. He crossed his arms, his lower lip trembling. It was a silent tantrum, but the defiance was as loud as any scream.