Seafood Feast, Dine and Weep

I was in the middle of a shift when my coworker, Denise Sutton, popped up out of nowhere and slapped me on the shoulder. "Next week is Gerald's birthday, and your family happens to run a seafood restaurant. So here's the plan — I'll chip in ninety-nine dollars, and we'll all go over to your place for a feast to celebrate." Denise counted off the menu on her fingers. "We need lobster and king crab, the fish has to be live-caught grouper, don't skimp on the appetizers, and stock up on beer and soda. Gerald's got gout, so go easy on the shellfish for him. Make sure everything's perfect — don't embarrass our department." She gave me a playful nudge, waggling her eyebrows. "Once Gerald's happy, he'll cut you a bonus worth a few thousand. Won't that make you happy?" "You get paid, you get noticed, and the boss ends up in a good mood. Amy, you'd better be properly grateful to me." I just stared at her, baffled. My family ran a breakfast counter that sold meat pies. Where exactly was the seafood supposed to come from? I turned Denise down flat. Denise just rolled her eyes and walked off. That night, a sign-up thread went out in the work group chat. "Gerald's birthday party is Saturday. I'm treating everyone to a seafood feast, all you can eat, and you can bring family. Reply if you're coming!" The chat erupted in cheers. In under ten minutes, more than fifty people had signed up. [My dad's never even had lobster. Guess he's finally getting cultured, thanks to Denise!] [My kid's obsessed with tuna. Get extra servings for her.] Denise agreed to everything without hesitation, dropped a location pin in the chat, and sent me ninety-nine dollars. Denise: [Amy, hold onto the money. The ingredients better be fresh — don't you dare shortchange your own coworkers.] I looked at the pinned location and smiled. It was the upscale seafood restaurant next door to my family's shop — owned by a man who'd gone straight a few years back after a rougher life, with tattoos running all the way up to his chin. The last person who'd tried to dine and dash there still hadn't gotten out of bed. Chapter 1 Me: [That seafood restaurant isn't run by my family. My family's shop is the little breakfast place next door. Everyone's misunderstood.] For two seconds after I sent that message, the chat went quiet. Then Denise Sutton posted a video. In the clip, I walked into the seafood restaurant, and the hostess greeted me with a smile. "Amy, you're back! What are you in the mood for today?" Denise slapped a string of question marks under it. [Not your family's place? If it's not your family's place, why does the hostess know you by name? Why's she asking what you want to eat?] [Amy, nobody's trying to freeload off you. I'm paying for this. I'm supporting your family's business, and you're throwing up excuses and acting difficult. What's the point of that?] My stomach dropped. That video had been secretly filmed the night before, right after I left work. I was about to explain myself when Tyler Chapman — who was usually friendly enough with me — beat me to it. [Is this really necessary, Amy? Nobody's after your family's money.] [Exactly. Who can't afford seafood these days? The way you're tiptoeing around this is honestly kind of gross.] Someone from HR dropped a string of thumbs-down emojis. [Seafood's everywhere now. It's not some rare treasure.] A coworker from the ad department chimed in right after. [We're coming to eat so we can hype up your family's restaurant — bring in some foot traffic. Without us warming the place up, who's going to want to walk into an empty restaurant?] [And when I post my visit on TikTok, that's free advertising for your family. That kind of promotion is worth more than one meal. You should be thanking me for not charging you a marketing fee.] [Open your mind a little. Quit obsessing over pocket change. Being generous gets you further in life.] I stared at my phone, my fingers shaking. My family and Marcus Doyle were nothing more than neighbors. Marcus was a good man who occasionally invited me over for a meal — so how exactly had that turned into my family owning his restaurant? Chapter 2 I took a deep breath and typed out my reply, pressing hard on the screen. Me: [The owner next door and I are just neighbors. He's a good man who occasionally treats me to a meal, that's all.] Me: [I'm telling the truth. If nobody minds, you're all welcome to come to my family's breakfast shop instead. I'll have my mom pick up fresh seafood, and she's a great cook. She won't shortchange anyone…] Once my message went out, the chat went quiet again. After a long pause, someone finally responded. [That greasy little breakfast place next door? Gross. If we're eating there, I'm out for Saturday.] [Same here.] Denise immediately jumped back in, tagging the whole group. [Don't worry, everyone. It's the place I dropped the pin for — no mistake. We're all still on for Saturday.] The chat lit right back up. [@Amy, the lobster needs to be sashimi-style, sliced thin.] [Steam the king crab with garlic, and don't break the legs.] [My kid only eats tuna belly. Get a few extra servings.] A young mother sent a voice message. "Denise, you're really generous. My daughter wants to thank you." Right after came a toddler's babbled thank-you. The chat filled up with people thanking Denise one after another. Even Gerald Keller, who'd stayed quiet the whole time, chimed in with a string of thumbs-up. [The kind of team spirit Denise is showing here is something the whole company should learn from. There's no question who's getting Employee of the Year.] Denise shot back a bashful emoji within a second. [It's really nothing. Just doing what any of us would do.] A moment later, a private message popped up on my screen. [Amy, use your head. Don't ruin Gerald's birthday party. It won't do you any favors.] [If you think the money's not enough, I'll send you another hundred.] She transferred it over. [A hundred and ninety-nine dollars for a meal — that's at least a hundred and fifty in profit for you, right? Happy now? Making money off your own coworkers — you really do know how to squeeze people.] I laughed, more out of disbelief than humor. A hundred and ninety-nine dollars, more than fifty people eating their fill of seafood, ordering lobster and king crab by name — and somehow I was the one supposedly pocketing a hundred and fifty? I didn't reply. Instead, I opened my private chat with Gerald. I attached a clear photo of my family's business license and the sign above the shop door — "Hartwell's Diner" — and sent it over. Me: [Gerald, I'm not trying to get out of anything. That seafood restaurant genuinely isn't run by my family. We really do just sell meat pies.] Me: [This whole thing has been a misunderstanding from the start. I can't promise anything on my family's behalf, and I'd really appreciate it if you could say something in the group to clear this up.] The message showed as read within a second. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Gerald never replied. I went back to the group chat, which had already filled up with hundreds of new messages. Denise's profile picture was bouncing at the top of the feed. Denise: [Everyone, I almost forgot to mention — Amy's restaurant is throwing in a free seafood gift bag for everyone. Don't forget to grab yours on the way out!] The chat exploded. [A gift bag too? Dried scallops, foie gras, white truffles, caviar — I want all!] [My family's got six people coming. Do we get six bags?] [Can we swap the truffles for caviar instead? My wife just had a baby, she needs the Beluga.] [I went to another seafood place before, and they charged me thirty-eight hundred dollars just for one lobster served three ways. Total ripoff. Amy's family's place is the real deal. That's what you get from an honest neighborhood shop.] Chapter 3 Someone tagged me in the chat. [Amy, my wife's allergic to shrimp. Steam her a separate grouper when we're there.] Another message popped up right after. [My dad's got gout, no shellfish for him. Make him a private bowl of oatmeal with foie gras, freshly made — don't you dare fob him off with day-old leftovers.] I gave a cold, silent laugh. Eating and drinking for free wasn't enough for them — now they wanted to work me like hired help? I didn't reply. The next morning, I went straight to Gerald's office. Gerald was on the sofa, drinking coffee. I got straight to the point. "Gerald, you saw the message I sent yesterday, right? That seafood restaurant really isn't—" Gerald's face darkened. He set his cup down, not gently. "Amy, your attitude is a real problem." My stomach dropped. He frowned and rapped his knuckles hard on the desk. "Do you honestly think I care about some birthday party? You think I'm dying for a taste of your seafood? I'm doing this for the company!" He slammed his hand on the desk, looking genuinely wounded. "Denise is a longtime employee. She's paying out of her own pocket to organize a team event, running herself ragged — and why? So a new hire like you could get some face time with leadership. "If you're not going to show any gratitude, fine. But standing here, lying to me on top of it? That's just disappointing." My fists clenched, my voice rising despite myself. "I'm not lying—" He raised a hand to cut me off. "Enough. Team spirit weighs heavily in your probation review. Go think about that." With that, he steered me out of the office and shut the door behind me with a bang. I'd barely sat back down at my desk when a shadow fell over me. Denise stood there, arms crossed, a smile playing at her lips. "Amy, you're new here. Don't be so uptight. Sometimes, taking the loss is actually good for you. "It's just one seafood dinner. Make the boss happy, and getting your contract renewed practically takes care of itself." She said it like she was doing me a favor. "When I first started here, I spent a whole year running around after the senior staff, hand and foot. You think I complained?" I said nothing. I started clearing my things off my desk. Denise's expression shifted. "What do you think you're doing?" "I quit." A few coworkers nearby looked up at once. Denise blinked, then her voice climbed. "Over one dinner? You're quitting over that?" She raised her voice to a shriek for the whole office to hear. "Listen to this, everyone! Young people these days are so fragile. One meal at her place and she's acting like we've committed some crime against her!" The coworkers around me wrinkled their noses. "Using quitting as a threat, seriously?" "If she wants to go, let her go. She hasn't even made it through probation, and she's already acting like she owns the place." "Drop the act. If you wanted more money, you could've just said so. Isn't this a little pathetic?" I ignored them and walked straight back to Gerald's office. I handed him my resignation letter. He knocked it off the desk without even looking up. "Wait for approval." I tried to speak, but he slammed his hand on the desk, impatient. "This is a company, not your house. You don't get to come and go as you please. Wait for approval." I looked at him in silence for a moment, then turned and walked out. Back at my desk, Denise sneered at me. "Weren't you quitting? Go on, then, leave." Murmurs rippled around me. "Such a drama queen. Who's she even performing for?" "Denise, maybe just let it go. Acting like eating one meal at her family's restaurant is a death sentence." Someone else chimed in, dripping with sarcasm. Denise gave a cold laugh. "I'm having this dinner whether she likes it or not." She glared at me, venomous. "Amy, you'd better wise up. Don't make an enemy of everyone here, or nobody's going to be able to save you when the time comes." I looked down and opened my chat with Marcus. Me: [Marcus, there's something I want to run by you.] Chapter 4 Saturday came. At noon, someone started pounding on my front door. "Amy! Open up!" Denise's booming voice cut straight through the door. "We're here to get you! Amy!" The knocking turned to full-on fist-pounding, hard enough to shake the whole building. A neighbor stuck his head out to look, and Denise called over to him, all smiles. "We're Amy's coworkers, here to pick her up for a meal." Then she turned back to the door, and her smile went cold. "Amy, your grandmother's still at the nursing home, isn't she? If you don't open this door right now, we'll go pay her a visit instead." My temper flared. I yanked the door open, and before I could get a word out, a hand grabbed a fistful of my hair. "What took you so long?" Denise's grip was brutal. Without another word, she hauled me toward the elevator. A couple of other coworkers grabbed my arms and wouldn't let go. "Amy, you're the guest of honor today. How could we do this without you?" I stumbled down the stairwell, my scalp burning with pain. A dozen or so coworkers were waiting downstairs, and when they saw me, they rolled their eyes. "Look at her. Not even a real employee, and she's already acting like she's better than the boss." "A whole group of us are waiting on just you. You should be ashamed." They shoved me into a car and drove straight to the restaurant. Denise pushed me down into a chair, flipped open the menu, and started rattling off orders to the waiter. "Lobster, five per table. King crab, three ways. Live grouper, freshly caught. Tuna belly, extra-thick cut, double servings—" Every time she named a dish, she glanced sideways at me. "You're not going to get all worked up over this, are you, Amy? We're all coworkers here, not strangers." She added twelve New Zealand abalone to the order. "It's not every day Gerald has a birthday — we can't cut corners. You don't have a problem with that, right, Amy?" I said nothing. Beside me, Kevin Brennan laughed and jumped in. "Look at her face. She doesn't care about the money at all. No need to hold back on her account." Denise went on to order every single dish on the menu. The table ended up piled so high there was barely room for anything. Once she'd finished, she looked at me, pleased with herself. "Why so quiet, Amy? You're not upset, are you?" Gerald rapped his knuckles on the table. "Amy, think about company unity. Who exactly are you making that face for?" With that, he was the first to pick up his fork. "Everyone, eat up. This is a company outing, and an intern doesn't get to call the shots here." Everyone dug in at once. By the second half of the meal, people were taking two bites of tuna and spitting the rest out. Kids were flinging pieces of foie gras around like toys. A few of the men splashed cognac on the floor just to liven up the mood. Every one of them looked at me like they were enjoying themselves at my expense. "You're not upset about the money, are you, Amy?" "Why would she be upset? Denise already paid. She's making a profit off this." "Fair point." By the end, everyone was slumped in their chairs, stuffed. Denise had people start packing up the gift bags. Every guest walked out with three or four bags stuffed full, grinning ear to ear. "We don't even eat this well at my house on holidays. Amy, your family's restaurant is the real deal. We're making this our regular spot for company dinners from now on." That was when the waiter walked over carrying a long printed bill. Denise's expression shifted. Without a word, she shoved me forward. "Amy, I already transferred the money to you. Go settle the bill. We're heading out." She bolted for the door, and everyone else followed right behind her. A second later, the private room's door was blocked solid by a dozen bald men in black work uniforms. The one in front had arms thicker than Denise's thighs, tattoos running all the way up his neck. His gaze swept slowly over everyone in the room. "Six tables. Thirty-six lobsters, twenty-five servings of king crab, fifteen New Zealand abalone, twelve grouper, eighteen servings of thick-cut tuna belly, twenty-four bottles of cognac... fifty-three gift bags of caviar, foie gras, and dried scallops. "That comes to Eighty-three thousand and seven hundred dollars, total." Denise forced herself to stay composed, shoving me forward with everything she had. "We're Amy's coworkers. If you're looking for her—" The man raised a hand. "What does this have to do with Amy? I own this restaurant. And you're the one who placed the order." He watched the color drain from Denise's face and gave a slow smile. "Pay up."