After the local "sweetheart" returned to our rural town, she publicly accused my dad of scamming the townsfolk out of $300,000 in dirty money. She claimed that she had eaten a premium lobster and filet mignon dinner at a high-end city restaurant for a mere $199. So why on earth, she asked, was my dad charging $500 a table to cater country weddings? Hearing the numbers, the locals saw red and demanded my dad refund their money. They cursed him, called him a useless cripple, and sneered that it was no wonder his wife had run out on him. Furious, I packed up immediately, taking my dad back to the city with me, and swore we would never cater another local event. The two-faced girl instantly bragged that she would take over all the town's catering from now on. Premium lobster for $199 a table, she promised! Shortly after, a lunatic showed up at the front doors of my upscale city restaurant, boasting about a massive business deal. "I'm here to bring your restaurant huge business! To show my sincerity, I'll book 20 tables of that $199 lobster combo. Since I'm buying in bulk, give me a discount—$150 a table, deal?" 1 My dad catered the weddings for practically the entire county, and Travis Stone's big day was no exception. At $500 a table, Travis had ordered enough food for twenty tables. On the drive over, I joked, "Dad, you're getting older. Let's make this your last gig, and then you can come to the city and be the general manager at my restaurant." My dad let out a soft huff. "You cook for the money, Chloe. I cook for the heart." My dad walked with a heavy limp. Years ago, people looked down on him for it, and even my mom ended up leaving him. When I was little, he cooked for the local logging camps. When things got better, he started catering town events. Once I started making good money, I begged him to retire. Rural catering is backbreaking labor with razor-thin margins, but he refused. He just loved it when folks called him Chef Arthur and praised his cooking for being delicious and hearty. We brought the whole family and hired four local kitchen hands. It took half the day just to haul all the equipment to the Stone family's property. Travis politely handed my dad a cigarette. "Mr. Miller, I owe you everything. If you hadn't fronted the cost for these twenty tables on credit, I wouldn't even be getting married today. Don't worry, as soon as we open the wedding envelopes tonight, I'll pay off everything I owe you." My dad waved him off with a smile, telling Travis to go focus on his big day. The banquet was shaping up beautifully. The whole town had shown up; people were playing cards, drinking beer, and laughing. But just before noon, the peace shattered. A shrill female voice pierced the air: "You guys are running a total scam! It's one thing to rip off strangers, but how can you rob your own neighbors?!" The lively yard instantly fell dead silent. Everyone turned toward the voice. I looked up. It was Brittany Clark, the local girl who had gone off to college. My dad, visibly confused, wiped his hands on his apron. "Brittany? What are you talking about? Who are we robbing?" Travis rushed over, looking panicked. "Brittany, what kind of scene are you causing at my wedding?" Brittany glared at him. "Travis, they're charging you $500 a table! If that isn't a scam, what is?" She was seething, looking at us as if my family had committed some unspeakable crime. The locals were utterly bewildered and started whispering among themselves. "But $500 a table is standard around here. We couldn't afford anything pricier." "Yeah, when my daughter got married last month, it was $500 a table too." Travis scratched his head. "Isn't $500 the normal price? Brittany, if you ruin my wedding day, I swear I'll make you pay for it." Brittany frantically waved her hands. "I'm not ruining anything! I'm telling the truth! This family is making filthy, dirty money off you all!" "Just two days ago, I went to a high-end restaurant in the city. We had lobster, filet mignon, the works. Guess how much it cost?" At the mention of lobster and steak, the villagers' eyes widened. Most of them had never eaten food like that in their lives. A meal like that had to be thousands of dollars, right? Brittany slammed a receipt onto a nearby table, lifting her chin proudly. "It only cost $199!" The crowd gasped. Lobster and steak for $199? Impossible! People shoved each other out of the way to look at the receipt. It really did say $199. I didn't even need to look at the slip of paper. I already knew what it was, because I owned that restaurant. 2 A few days ago, Brittany had brought her college friends to my restaurant. Her friends were openly mocking her for being a rural hick and a broke farm girl. To embarrass her, they purposefully ordered the most expensive items on the menu. When the bill came, Brittany sneaked away to find a server, practically begging for a discount. She was on the verge of tears, nervously pulling out two crumpled hundred-dollar bills from her cheap purse. I happened to be on the floor and recognized her. Since we were from the same small town, I wanted to save her face. I quietly instructed the manager to comp the rest of the $6,000 bill and ring her up for exactly $199. After paying, she went right back to her friends, bragging about how it was pocket change. They were thoroughly impressed. I never expected that she would return to our hometown just to smash my dad's livelihood! Brittany dragged a chair to the center of the yard and stood on it, projecting her voice. "A luxury city restaurant charges $199 for lobster! Meanwhile, Arthur charges $500 for cheap chicken and potatoes! Why?!" "Have any of you done the math? If he makes $300 in pure profit per table, ten tables is $3,000!" "They've monopolized the catering for the entire county! He probably caters over a thousand tables a year. That's $300,000! Three hundred thousand dollars! How many years do you farmers have to break your backs in the dirt to see that kind of money?!" "They are rotten, greedy, shameless capitalists! As a college-educated woman from this town, I have to stand up and protect my community's interests!" For the locals, $300,000 was an astronomical sum. Whether Brittany's logic made sense or not, a dark, ugly jealousy clouded the villagers' eyes. The friendly, laughing crowd from moments ago vanished. Now, they stared at me and my dad with naked hatred. My dad was trembling with anger. "You're speaking nonsense! We've never made dirty money! With inflation the way it is, $500 for a massive buffet table is basically at-cost!" I stepped up beside him. "You say we make dirty money? Show us the proof." I worked in the restaurant industry; I knew better than anyone that $500 a table was an absolute steal. A single table included twelve massive courses—roast beef, fried chicken, glazed ham, whole fish—not to mention we provided the tables, the chairs, the cutlery, the drinks, and the cleanup. Out of that $500, my dad barely netted $50. It was pure sweat equity. My dad had built up decades of respect in this town. Hearing his defense, the crowd's glaring eyes softened slightly. But Brittany immediately spat back, "As if anyone would admit to making dirty money! Have you all forgotten? I used to work in his kitchen!" 3 She had indeed worked in our kitchen. Brittany's family was the poorest in town. Her father was a lazy, violent alcoholic, and her mother had abandoned her at birth. Years ago, after a wedding gig, a teenage Brittany had approached my dad in rags, begging for the leftover scraps. When my dad looked into her situation, his heart broke. That year, she was supposed to start high school, but her dad refused to pay for it, planning to sell her off to an older man for a dowry instead. My dad marched over to her house, argued with her father, and negotiated a deal. He paid her father off, allowed Brittany to work as a kitchen prep cook on weekends for a fair wage, and essentially funded her high school education so she wouldn't be forced into a child marriage. When she got accepted to college, my dad handed her an envelope with $5,000 inside. Every few weeks, he would proudly tell people that helping a smart girl change her destiny was the best thing he ever did. Had my family been wrong to help her all along? I pulled up a chair and sat down. I wanted to see exactly how far she was willing to take this circus. Brittany pointed an accusing finger at us. "I know all their dirty little secrets! I saw Arthur secretly counting fat stacks of hundred-dollar bills in the back room!" My dad's eyes turned bloodshot. "You liar! The money you saw was cash my daughter gave me!" I nodded firmly. "That's right. I send my dad money every single month." Whenever I wired him money, he always withdrew it in cash because it was easier to buy fresh produce and eggs from the local Amish farmers. To think the money I worked so hard to give my father was now being framed as stolen loot. Brittany crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, looking at me with pure disdain. "Chloe, you're just a woman. How much money can a woman really make out alone in the big city? You're probably turning tricks in some dirty alleyway." Hearing that, my dad completely snapped. He grabbed a heavy metal spatula and lunged toward her. "You vile liar! You can insult me all you want, but don't you dare insult my daughter! I'll beat you to a pulp!" Brittany immediately shrieked and hid behind Travis, continuing to fan the flames. "Look at him! He's lashing out because he's guilty! If she's not a streetwalker, then the money is definitely stolen from the town!" The villagers, already whipped into a frenzy, began nodding in agreement. "Brittany's a smart college girl, she wouldn't lie to us." "Yeah, Chloe barely ever comes back to town. Have you seen the clothes she wears? Proper women don't dress like that." "How could a single girl make so much money? Her dad definitely embezzled our money to fund her luxury city lifestyle." The whispers grew louder and more disgusting. My dad was shaking violently from the humiliation. Suddenly, an older woman dropped to her knees with a heavy thud. 4 Both my dad and I jumped. My dad rushed forward to help her up. "Mrs. Higgins, what are you doing?" But Mrs. Higgins refused to stand, sobbing into her hands. "Arthur, last year when my son graduated high school, you catered his party. We booked ten tables for $5,000." My dad nodded. "I remember." Mrs. Higgins grabbed the fabric of his pants, begging, "Please, give me $3,000 back! I have so many kids to feed, and we're so broke! You have so much money now, just give me my money back!" I immediately stepped in, peeling her hands off my dad. "Mrs. Higgins, that's not how business works. Prices are agreed upon beforehand. There's no such thing as retroactive refunds. Besides, at your son's party, my dad personally handed your boy a $1,000 graduation gift to help with his college supplies!" Seeing her tears weren't working, Mrs. Higgins stood up, dusted off her knees, and glared at us viciously. "That's completely different! I didn't beg you for a gift! You stole our money, so you have to refund it!" "And besides, we aren't even related. The only reason your dad gave my boy a thousand dollars was because he felt guilty for ripping us off!" I had dealt with my fair share of difficult customers in the restaurant business, but I had never seen anyone this utterly shameless. I defended my dad loudly. "My dad knew your family was struggling, and he wanted to help your son succeed! How can you be so ungrateful?" Brittany immediately pulled Mrs. Higgins behind her. Meeting my gaze, she declared self-righteously, "Don't think your petty little handouts excuse the fact that you scammed everyone! You owe this town a refund." I was so angry I actually laughed. "Brittany, show me actual proof that we scammed anyone. Stop throwing dirty water on my family." Brittany snatched the restaurant receipt and threw it at my feet. "Proof? This $199 lobster dinner is proof! Your designer clothes and fancy car are proof! Your dad's guilty conscience and bribe money are proof!" "What else is there to defend? You greedy leeches will get what's coming to you!" Driven by her passionate speech, the townsfolk exploded. "Yeah! Refund us! We break our backs for our money, and you just steal it!" "Let's go get Mayor Davis! He'll make them pay!" 5 They didn't need to fetch him; Mayor Davis had just arrived. Seeing the Mayor, my dad hurried over and grabbed his hand. "Mayor, you're an educated man. You've been to the city. You know what inflation looks like right now. Please, explain to them how the economy works." Mayor Davis patted my dad's hand solemnly. "Don't worry, Arthur. I always serve this town with fairness and justice." My dad let out a huge sigh of relief. But looking at the Mayor's shifting eyes, I had a sinking feeling this wasn't going to end well. After getting a summary of the situation, Mayor Davis nodded slowly. "Arthur, why don't you tell everyone exactly how much profit you make off one table?" My dad answered honestly, "Less than fifty dollars." The moment the words left his mouth, Brittany jumped in. "$50 is a lot! Let's take Travis's wedding as an example. Twenty tables means you're pocketing $1,000 in a single day! If that isn't robbery, what is?" My dad and I were dumbfounded. Did she think there was a 20-table wedding every single day of the year? Even working all year round, my dad barely cleared $40,000, and it had ruined his joints. My dad opened his mouth to explain, but Mayor Davis cut him off. "Arthur, that does seem a bit predatory. The loggers and farmers out here barely make $150 a day doing hard labor. You're pulling in a thousand dollars a day. How do you justify that?" Furious, I snapped back, "My dad doesn't work a gig every day! What about the wear and tear on our equipment? The broken plates? The gas for the delivery trucks? Does that stuff not cost money?" "Tsk, tsk. Look at that," the Mayor scolded. "The city girl gets aggressive the second she's questioned. If you ask me, this money is ill-gotten. My official ruling is that you refund the citizens." At the Mayor's words, the villagers' eyes gleamed with pure greed. No one turns down free money. Brittany cheered, "The Mayor is a wise man! The money must be returned!" "Damn right! Thank God we have an educated college girl to keep us from being robbed blind!" "Exactly! They hold a monopoly on the whole county. Who knows how much they've stolen from us!" "Hey, I booked you last month! Based on city prices, you owe me $3,000 back!" My dad pointed a trembling finger at the last man who spoke. "You haven't even paid your catering bill from last month! What gives you the right to demand a refund?!" The man rubbed his nose and sneered. "Well, I owed you $5,000. Now that you're refunding me $3,000, I only owe you $2,000! You shamelessly try to rob us, you old cripple. It's no wonder your wife ran away!" I snatched a thick wooden tent pole from the ground and aimed it at him. "Say that one more time, I dare you." "I'll say whatever I want, you city tramp! Dressing like a harlot every day, God knows how many men you've slept with!" These ungrateful parasites! Most of them couldn't even afford a deposit before booking an event, so my dad fronted the cash for the ingredients. Some paid him back after opening wedding gifts. Some only paid half. Some never paid at all. And this is how they repay him? A pack of rabid wolves. I gripped the wooden pole, ready to swing, when suddenly someone wrenched it from my hands.
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