He sent it.
Martin noticed.
"Was that about the transition list?"
"Yes."
"We shouldn't approve it without the original agreements."
Richard looked at him.
"Martin, if you want to run the company, you should have applied for my job."
Martin's face reddened.
Leonard put down his fork.
"That's enough."
Richard turned.
"Excuse me?"
"We're guests in this restaurant. There are employees working around us, and there are customers trying to enjoy their evening. You can disagree with Martin without humiliating him."
Richard gave a short laugh.
"Humiliating him? I was making a point."
"Then make it without treating people as though they're beneath you."
Richard looked at Leonard for several seconds.
Then he lifted his glass.
"To professionalism."
Leonard did not return the toast.
Eleanor finally ordered.
She chose the mushroom consommé, followed by the roast sea bass.
The waiter asked whether she would like a dessert menu.
"Perhaps later."
"Of course."
As he walked away, Eleanor looked toward the old photographs again.
The photograph of Thomas had been taken in the restaurant's first year. He was standing beside the original head chef, a man named Arthur Bell. Arthur had died before the restaurant's tenth anniversary, but his name remained on the kitchen's first framed menu.
Eleanor remembered how Thomas had insisted that the photograph be hung where customers could see it.
He had said that a restaurant should never become so successful that it forgot the people who had made it possible.
For years, that sentence had guided her.
It had guided Thomas too.
They had made mistakes. They had hired people who were not suited to the work. They had trusted suppliers who later cheated them. They had expanded too quickly once and nearly lost everything.
But whenever they faced a difficult decision, they asked one question.
Would the people who built this place recognize what we were doing?
It was not a perfect business philosophy.
It was, however, a useful one.
Eleanor opened her handbag and removed the small envelope again.
Inside were three sheets of paper.
The first contained a list of names.
The second contained a series of dates and amounts.
The third was a handwritten note from a former employee.
She read the note once more.
Mrs. Grant, I have worked for this company for twenty-seven years. I never expected to be rich. I only expected that the people who took over would remember that we helped build it. They told us the changes were necessary, but they would not show us the numbers. They asked us to sign agreements before we could take our personal belongings from the office. I am not writing because I want my job back. I am writing because I think you should know what is happening.
The letter was signed:
Margaret Ellis, Former Regional Operations Manager.
Eleanor folded it carefully.
Margaret had worked for the company since the second restaurant opened.
She had once spent an entire night in a hospital waiting room with a young chef who had been injured in a kitchen accident because his family lived too far away to reach the city before morning.
She had not been required to stay.
She had stayed anyway.
When Thomas learned about it, he had sent her flowers.
Now Margaret was gone.
And the documents suggested that she was not the only one.
Eleanor placed the letter back into the envelope.
She looked across the room.
Richard was speaking again, his hands moving as he described a plan.
He was a capable man. Eleanor could see that much.
He had built a successful firm, and he knew how to persuade investors. His confidence was not entirely artificial. It had been earned through years of difficult decisions.
But confidence could become dangerous when a person began believing that success made every decision correct.
Eleanor had seen that happen before.
She had once seen a talented young manager destroy a thriving restaurant because he believed the staff were replaceable and the customers would never notice.
The customers had noticed.
The staff had noticed first.
The restaurant had closed within eighteen months.
She hoped Richard was not making the same mistake on a much larger scale.
At 8:14 p.m., the dining room manager approached Table Twelve.
"Mrs. Grant?"
Eleanor looked up.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind if I brought someone over to greet you?"
"Who?"
"Mr. Halston has asked whether you might join his table for a moment."
Eleanor glanced toward Table Four.
Richard was watching her.
His expression was polite.
His eyes were not.
"Did he say why?"
"He said he would like to introduce himself."
Eleanor considered the request.
"Please tell him I'm enjoying my dinner."
The manager nodded.
"Of course."
He turned to leave.
Then Eleanor added, "And please tell him that if he would like to speak with me, he is welcome to come here."
The manager paused.
"Certainly."
When he reached Table Four, Richard looked up.