Chapter 3 - The Cold Eye of Authority
Leo felt a warm glow of satisfaction spread through his chest. "You're welcome. Eat up, it'll help keep you warm."
He turned back toward the metal door, feeling a brief sense of peace that he had managed to do at least one good thing on an otherwise exhausting day. But as his hand pushed open the heavy door and stepped back into the bright, fluorescent-lit corridor of the kitchen, his heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Standing right inside the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his chest and a face contorted into a mask of pure fury, was Arthur Vance, the restaurant’s general manager. Arthur was the kind of man who viewed the world entirely through profit margins and liability clauses. He was impeccably dressed in a custom charcoal suit, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the glare of the overhead lights as he glared down at Leo with an expression of venomous contempt.
"Where," Arthur began, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low hiss that immediately silenced the remaining kitchen staff, "do you think you were just going, Carter?"
Leo froze, the empty takeout bag still crumpled in his hand. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. "I... I just stepped outside for a second, Mr. Vance. To take out some trash."
"With a box containing a ninety-five-dollar prime ribeye?" Arthur interrupted, marching forward until he was standing inches from Leo’s face. The smell of expensive cologne mixed sharply with the stale scent of kitchen grease. "Do you take me for an absolute fool? I watched you through the security monitor feed. You took kitchen property and handed it out the back door like this is some kind of neighborhood soup kitchen!"
The kitchen went dead silent. The line cooks lowered their knives; the dishwashers paused their scrubbing. Everyone knew Arthur’s reputation. He was a tyrant who had fired people for taking home day-old bread.
"It was going in the trash, Mr. Vance," Leo defended himself, his voice rising slightly despite his fear. "Table Twelve sent it back, it was completely untouched, and there was an old man starving in the alley. It was freezing out there! I didn't steal anything that wasn't headed for the dumpster anyway!"
"It doesn't matter if it was headed for the center of the sun, Carter!" Arthur roared, his face turning purple with rage. "Company policy is company policy! Liability, food safety, inventory control—words you apparently lack the mental capacity to comprehend! We are not a charity, and I will not have my kitchen operating like a shelter for vagrants!"
Leo felt hot tears of frustration prick the backs of his eyes. He thought of his mother, of the looming rent, of the impossible mountain of bills. "It was just one steak! It cost the restaurant nothing!"
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Arthur didn't blink. He raised a finger, pointing it straight at Leo’s chest with clinical coldness. "Take off your apron. You’re fired."
The words hung in the air like a falling guillotine. Fired. The single word echoed off the stainless-steel walls, stripping Leo of his livelihood in a matter of seconds.
