The business I had built from scratch after years of hard work, meticulous savings, and smart investments. The restaurant that had made me a successful entrepreneur, even though no one in my family knew it because I had decided to keep it a secret.
Michael knew I worked in restaurants, but he always assumed it was as a waitress or a line cook. I never told him the truth. I never told him I owned three establishments in the city, including this one, the most exclusive of them all. I never told him about my bank account with over $2 million. I never mentioned the properties I owned.
Why?
Because I wanted to see who my son really was, who he would become without the influence of my money. And tonight, I had finally gotten my answer.
I entered the kitchen. The heat hit me immediately. The sound of pans sizzling, knives hitting cutting boards, orders being shouted in Spanish and Italian.
My kitchen. My kingdom.
Julian, my executive chef and general manager, saw me enter. His face lit up. He was a tall man in his 50s with black hair, slicked back, and an impeccable white apron. He had worked with me since the first day I opened this place.