That made the exchange more uncomfortable.
He preferred people who argued openly. They could be categorized, answered, and dismissed.
Eleanor simply asked questions.
"Well," he said, standing, "it has been a pleasure meeting you."
"Thank you for coming over."
"If you have any specific concerns about the proposed investment, I'd encourage you to submit them through the proper channels."
Eleanor nodded.
"I may do that."
Richard extended his hand again.
She shook it.
He returned to Table Four.
As he sat down, Leonard looked at him.
"How was the conversation?"
Richard picked up his glass.
"Unusual."
"In what way?"
"She seems to think she knows something about the business."
Leonard's eyes moved toward Table Twelve.
"Perhaps she does."
Richard frowned.
"Do you know who she is?"
Leonard did not answer.
That silence irritated Richard more than any insult could have.
At 9:02 p.m., the restaurant's executive chef came out of the kitchen.
His name was André Moreau.
He was sixty-one, French-born, and had worked at the Grand Aurelia for thirty-four years. His hands were broad and scarred from decades of kitchen work, and his white jacket was immaculate.
He approached Table Twelve carrying a small covered dish.
"Madame Grant."
Eleanor smiled.
"André."
He placed the dish before her.
"I have prepared something."
"You didn't have to."
"I know."
He lifted the cover.
Inside was a small bowl of mushroom consommé, dark and fragrant, with a single roasted mushroom floating at the center.
Eleanor looked at it.
For a moment, her expression softened.
"Just like Thomas liked it."
André nodded.
"He taught me how to make it."
"He taught you to stop adding too much salt."
André laughed.
"He was right."
"He usually was about food."
"Usually?"
"Don't tell him I said that."
André smiled.
Then his expression became more serious.
"Are you well, Madame?"
"I am."
"Are you sure?"
Eleanor looked at him.
"Why?"
He glanced toward Table Four.
"Because there are things happening here."
Eleanor set down her spoon.
"I've heard."
"People are frightened."
"I know."
"Some of them think the restaurant will be sold."
"It may be."
"And what happens to us?"
Eleanor studied him.
"That depends on what we decide to do."
André lowered his voice.
"Some of us have been here too long to start again."
"I understand."
He hesitated.
"Thomas would not like this."
Eleanor looked at the old photograph on the wall.
"No," she said quietly. "He wouldn't."
André touched the edge of the table.
"Whatever happens, I want you to know that we remember."
Eleanor reached for his hand.
"I remember too."
He nodded and returned to the kitchen.
Richard had seen the exchange.
He had also noticed that the chef had not greeted Leonard or himself.
That was unusual.
He turned to Martin.
"Do you know the chef?"
"Only from meetings."
"How long has he been here?"
"More than thirty years, I think."
"That's part of the problem."
Martin looked at him.
"How?"
"Too much institutional attachment. People become convinced that the business belongs to them."
Leonard heard the remark.
"Perhaps because they helped build it."
Richard turned.
"Leonard, you cannot run a modern hospitality group as a family memorial."
"No," Leonard said. "But you cannot run one as though it has no family at all."
Richard looked away.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, the message was from his legal counsel.
We have a concern regarding the founding trust. Ownership documentation is incomplete. Please call me before making any public statements about the transaction.
Richard stared at the screen.
He typed:
What documentation?
The reply came quickly.
The original shareholder register and the 1998 trust amendment. We need to verify the current voting rights.
Richard's jaw tightened.
He looked at Leonard.
"Why haven't I received the original founding trust documents?"
Leonard set down his glass.
"You were told they were being reviewed."
"By whom?"
"The trustees."
"Which trustees?"
"That is not a question for dinner."
Richard leaned forward.
"It becomes a question for dinner when it threatens the transaction."
Leonard's voice remained calm.
"Then perhaps you should stop discussing the transaction as though it has already been approved."
Richard stared at him.
Across the room, Eleanor had finished her soup.
She was now reading a small folded card that she had removed from her handbag.
It contained a list of names and a handwritten message.
She looked at the first name.
Then the second.
Then the third.
She knew every person on the list.
Some had worked for Thomas.
Some had worked for her.
Some had been hired long after she stepped away from the restaurant.
All had contacted her in the last six months.
And all had described the same pattern.
A sudden change in management.
A new contract.
An unexplained dismissal.
A request to sign documents before receiving final compensation.
A warning not to discuss internal decisions with other employees.
Eleanor folded the card and placed it inside her handbag.