My Corrupt Manager Handed Me Dirty Dishes — She Didn’t Know I Owned The Hotel
Part 2
The silence in the massive ballroom was remarkably fragile.
It felt like it could shatter with a single deep breath.
Craig walked with incredibly confident, firm steps through the sea of wealthy guests.
Absolutely no one understood why this powerful man was glaring toward the service kitchen with such terrifying intensity.
Nobody except me.
I slowly opened my eyes and met his furious gaze.
Over the long years, we had carefully built a secret language that only the two of us truly understood.
It was constructed of intense glances and difficult battles fought side by side.
Craig took a very deep breath and adjusted his tailored suit jacket.
Instead of marching furiously toward me, he did something I genuinely did not expect.
He turned sharply on his heel and walked directly toward the main VIP table.
“Mother,” his voice was chillingly calm but undeniably firm.
“Good evening to you.”
Cynthia looked up at him with a bizarre mixture of maternal pride and quiet reproach.
“You arrived quite late,” she stated simply.
“I arrived exactly on time,” Craig immediately replied.
There was something incredibly dark in the way he pronounced those words that forced her to look away.
Up on the stage, Brenda quickly recovered her professional composure.
Her bright smile aggressively returned with sheer efficiency.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” her voice regained its typical energetic bounce.
“Please give a massive round of applause for our highly distinguished guest, Craig Vaughn.”
The entire ballroom erupted into thunderous applause.
Craig greeted them with cold politeness, shaking their eager hands with absolute zero enthusiasm.
From the swinging kitchen doors, I watched the entire bizarre scene unfold.
Jessica was standing right by my side, completely confused.
“Who exactly is that man?” she asked in a very low whisper.
“Everyone out there is acting like the actual president just walked into the room.”
I did not answer her question.
I simply lowered my gaze, gripped the silver tray tighter, and retreated back into the hot kitchen.
Jessica followed me inside, growing increasingly intrigued.
Inside the bustling kitchen, Heather was aggressively talking on her cell phone in a dark corner.
Her harsh voice was reduced to a very tense, panicked whisper.
“Yes, he just arrived right now.”
“No, absolutely no one informed me that he was coming tonight.”
She paused, her face cycling rapidly through sheer disbelief and cold calculation.
“What do you mean he just bought the entire hotel?”
“When did this happen?”
Heather slowly hung up the phone and stood completely motionless.
She slowly looked over to where I was quietly scrubbing dirty plates in the sink.
Something finally clicked inside her panicked mind.
She marched directly toward me, pointing a violently trembling finger right at my face.
“I just made a few very interesting phone calls to the central temporary agency,” Heather hissed.
“Your employment forms are completely blank.”
“No previous job references, no verifiable home address, absolutely no hospitality history.”
“Who exactly sent you here to spy on me?”
I stared right back at her with terrifying calm.
“Are you genuinely worried about who sent me?”
“Or are you terrified of what I have witnessed?”
When Heather’s phone vibrated with a single text message from corporate, what terrifying truth had she finally discovered?
