The Grant Hospitality Trust appears to retain certain oversight rights under the original founding documents. I recommend obtaining a legal review before making assumptions about its present authority.
Richard read it twice.
Then he typed:
Find out whether she can influence the Riverside project.
Jessica responded almost immediately.
I have no evidence that she has a direct connection to Riverside.
Richard stared at the message.
There must be a connection. Keep looking.
He put down the phone.
Across the room, Eleanor had asked Daniel for her bill.
The waiter returned with a small leather folder.
"Thank you," she said.
"Of course, Mrs. Grant."
Eleanor opened the folder and examined the amount.
She placed a credit card inside, then added a folded note beneath it.
Daniel took the folder to the payment station.
Richard watched the exchange.
He could not help wondering whether Eleanor's apparent modesty was a deliberate performance.
Perhaps she had been testing the restaurant.
Perhaps she was a wealthy investor who enjoyed appearing ordinary.
Perhaps she was simply an eccentric old woman with an unusual connection to the business.
The possibilities multiplied, but none answered the question that mattered most to Richard.
Why had she come tonight?
He looked toward the entrance.
Thomas Reed was standing near the reception desk, speaking quietly with Martin Shaw. The two men appeared to be discussing documents.
Richard recognized the attorney's face from a business magazine he had once read.
Thomas Reed had represented several charitable foundations in complex disputes. He was known for his discretion and his unwillingness to accept assignments that required him to conceal wrongdoing.
Richard did not know him personally.
But he knew enough to recognize that Thomas was not an ordinary dinner guest.
He rose.
Gregory was gone, Michael was gone, and the Riverside meeting had effectively collapsed. Richard had no reason to remain at the table except his determination to understand the situation.
He crossed the dining room.
"Mr. Reed?"
Thomas turned.
"Yes?"
"Richard Halston. Halston Capital."
Thomas accepted the offered hand.
"Good evening."
"I believe we have some mutual acquaintances."
"Possibly."
Richard smiled.
"I was hoping to ask you a question."
Thomas glanced toward Martin.
"About what?"
"Eleanor Grant."
Thomas's expression remained neutral.
"What about her?"
"I understand you're acquainted."
"I am."
"Would you be willing to tell me what brings her here tonight?"
Thomas considered the question.
"No."
Richard's smile froze.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said no."
"Surely you understand that I'm asking out of professional curiosity."
"Then I assume you'll understand why I won't discuss a client's private affairs."
Richard felt the familiar irritation rising again.
"Client?"
Thomas did not answer.
"Is she a client of your firm?"
"I don't discuss client relationships."
Richard looked at Martin.
"Is everyone in this restaurant determined to be difficult tonight?"
Martin's expression was composed.
"Everyone is trying to respect Mrs. Grant's privacy, Mr. Halston."
Richard turned back to Thomas.
"I have a significant business interest in this establishment."
"Then you should understand the importance of confidentiality."
"This is becoming ridiculous."
Thomas closed the folder he was carrying.
"Mr. Halston, I have no wish to argue with you. If you have a legitimate business question, direct it through the appropriate channels. I will respond to anything that falls within my professional obligations."
Richard leaned closer.
"I am not asking for a legal opinion. I'm asking why she is here."
"And I have told you that I won't discuss her private affairs."
For a moment, Richard looked as if he might continue.
Then he noticed several employees watching.
He stepped back.
"Very well."
Thomas nodded.
"Good evening."
Richard returned to his table, his face tight with anger.
He had now been denied information by a waiter, a restaurant manager, an events director, and an attorney.
He was beginning to interpret every refusal as a coordinated effort to undermine him.
He did not consider the simpler explanation: that none of those people owed him the information he wanted.
Daniel returned to the service station with Eleanor's payment.
He paused when he saw Martin.
"Mr. Shaw?"
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Grant left something for the staff."
Martin took the small folded note.
Inside was a brief handwritten message.
Thank you for making room for people. Please remember that the work you do matters, even when the people you serve forget to say so.
Beneath the message was a generous tip, divided equally between the service team and the kitchen staff.
Martin read the note twice.
He passed it to Daniel.
Daniel's expression softened.
"That's kind of her."
"Yes," Martin said. "It is."
Daniel folded the note carefully.
"She always asks how people are doing."
Martin looked at him.
"Always?"
"Every time she's visited while I've been working. She asks about the kitchen, the cleaning staff, the people at reception. She remembers names. She notices when someone isn't there."
"How often has she visited?"
Daniel thought for a moment.
"I've served her three times, counting tonight."
"Three?"
"Yes, sir."
Martin's expression changed.