"And?"
"They're full."
"Then try another one."
Michael closed his eyes for a second.
He didn't want to argue.
He didn't want to cause trouble.
He just wanted food.
"Please."
The woman shook her head.
"I'm sorry."
Michael nodded.
"Okay."
He turned around.
Lily stirred.
"Daddy..."
"I'm here."
"Did they have bread?"
Michael looked at the bakery counter.
"Not today."
A voice suddenly came from behind him.
"Wait."
Michael stopped.
The voice belonged to an older man sitting alone at a nearby table.
He was perhaps seventy.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Black tie.
A gold watch rested against his wrist.
He had been watching the entire conversation.
The older man slowly stood.
The woman behind the counter looked nervous.
"Mr. Whitmore..."
The old man ignored her.
He walked toward Michael.
Then he looked at Lily.
"When did she last eat?"
Michael hesitated.
"Yesterday."
The old man's expression changed.
"Yesterday morning?"
Michael nodded.
"Yes."
The old man looked at the woman behind the counter.
"Bring me everything."
"Sir?"
"Everything."
She stared.
"Mr. Whitmore, the kitchen—"
"Everything that child can eat."
Michael immediately shook his head.
"No."
The old man looked at him.
"No?"
"I can't accept that."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know you."
The old man smiled sadly.
"My name is Arthur Whitmore."
Michael froze.
He knew that name.
Everyone did.
Arthur Whitmore owned the Bellmont.
And several other luxury hotels across the country.
Michael stepped backward.
"Mr. Whitmore..."
Arthur raised one hand.
"Please."
He looked at Lily.
"Let an old man buy a meal for a hungry child."
Michael couldn't answer.
Arthur turned toward the kitchen.
"And bring the bread."
The woman nodded.
Seconds later, the counter began filling with food.
Soup.
Fresh bread.
Fruit.
Warm milk.
A small plate of pasta.
And a slice of chocolate cake.
Lily opened her eyes.