"How a table like that is assigned."
"Table Twelve is reserved through our private guest program."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that some of our longstanding guests have arrangements made directly with the management team."
"How longstanding?"
"That depends on the guest."
"And how are they selected?"
Claire maintained her professional smile.
"Selection isn't quite the right word."
Richard's patience began to wear thin.
"Then explain it to me."
Claire glanced toward Eleanor again.
"Mrs. Grant has a longstanding relationship with the restaurant."
"How longstanding?"
"I can't disclose the details of another guest's arrangements."
Richard gave a humorless laugh.
"Of course you can't."
"Is there something else I can help you with?"
"Yes. I'd like to know whether the management team has started making exceptions to its standards."
Claire's smile disappeared.
"Our standards are applied consistently, Mr. Halston."
"Then why does that woman have a table most customers can't get?"
"Because she has a reservation."
"That is not an explanation."
"It is the relevant explanation."
For the second time that evening, Richard found himself staring at someone who refused to treat his money as a reason to disclose private information.
Claire waited for a moment.
Then she said, "If you'll excuse me, I need to check on another table."
Richard watched her leave.
Gregory rubbed his forehead.
"Richard, I am begging you to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Making a scene."
"I am asking reasonable questions."
"You have asked the same question to a waiter, a manager, and an events director. Every one of them has given you the same answer."
"Because they're hiding something."
"Or because it's none of your business."
Richard's expression hardened.
"I don't appreciate being spoken to like that."
Gregory leaned forward.
"Then perhaps you should consider how you've been speaking to everyone else."
Silence settled over the table.
Michael Avery looked down at his plate.
Richard turned to the investor.
"Michael, you have known me for twelve years. Have I ever failed to deliver on a commitment?"
"Not a financial one."
"Have I ever misrepresented a project?"
"Not to me."
"Then I would appreciate it if we returned to the business at hand."
Michael held his gaze.
"Gladly. But if you want my money in Riverside, I need to know that your judgment is as good with people as it is with numbers."
Richard felt a flash of anger.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I watched you decide that a woman was unworthy of a table because of her clothes."
"That isn't what happened."
"Then explain what did happen."
Richard opened his mouth.
For the first time that evening, he could not produce an answer that sounded convincing.
He looked toward Table Twelve.
Eleanor was now speaking to a young hostess who had brought her a fresh napkin. The woman appeared nervous, perhaps because she had recognized the earlier confrontation and expected Eleanor to complain.
Instead, Eleanor smiled and asked whether the hostess's shift had been busy.
The young woman laughed.
Then she returned to the reception desk looking lighter than she had before.
Richard frowned.
Why did everyone seem to relax around Eleanor?
Why did she make staff members feel seen when he could barely remember their names?
He disliked the question because it had no obvious financial answer.
At nine fifteen, a man in a navy suit entered the restaurant carrying a slim black folder.
He spoke briefly with the hostess, then followed her toward Martin Shaw's office.
Richard barely noticed him.
Eleanor did.
Her posture changed subtly. She sat a little straighter, and her hand moved to the handbag beside her.
The man glanced toward Table Twelve but did not approach.
Instead, he disappeared through the door behind the reception desk.
A minute later, Martin emerged from the office.
He walked toward Eleanor with a seriousness Richard had not seen before.
"Mrs. Grant," Martin said quietly, "your guest has arrived."
Eleanor looked toward the office door.
"Thank you."
"Would you like me to bring him here?"
"No. Please ask him to wait in the private room for a few minutes."
"Certainly."
Martin hesitated.
"Are you sure?"
Eleanor looked at him.
"Yes."
He nodded and walked away.
Richard had heard enough to become interested again.
Your guest.
The private room.
The discreet arrival.
There was clearly more to Eleanor Grant than her appearance suggested.
Richard had been right about one thing: something was unusual.
But rather than reconsidering his earlier behavior, he interpreted the new information as confirmation that he had uncovered a mystery.
He leaned toward Gregory.
"Did you see that?"
Gregory didn't look up.
"See what?"
"Someone just arrived for her."
"People have guests, Richard."
"Martin took him straight to the private room."
"Perhaps because he's a private guest."
Richard's eyes narrowed.
"Exactly."
Gregory put down his fork.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I don't know yet."
"Then don't suggest anything."
Richard ignored him.
Across the room, Eleanor took the envelope from her handbag and placed it on the table.