After the Restaurant Staff All Quit, They All Regretted It

I took over a bankrupt Western restaurant, turned it into a Chinese place, and cleared 2.8 million a year.

To celebrate, I handed every employee in the shop a $50,000 bonus.

I never expected a few of the cooks to band together and hand me a bag of feces in return.

The head chef even slammed his hand on the table and shouted at me.

"Fifty grand a head? What are we, beggars you're brushing off?"

"Every restaurant on this whole street has gone under. Yours is the only one packed to the doors every single day, and that's all down to our cooking. Without the few of us, this place is a pile of shit."

"Since you don't know what's good for you, we quit!"

He walked out with the cooks under him, took out a loan together, and opened a restaurant right across the street. Then he threw his threat in my face.

"Denise Simmons, we've got the skills. We're not worried about losing business or losing money. That sad little place of yours, without us, can just sit there and wait to go bankrupt."

I smiled.

Turns out they still hadn't figured it out. The steady stream of customers coming through my doors every day were all employees from my father's company.

The day I handed out year-end bonuses, every employee in the restaurant stood there grinning, the heavy stack of fifty grand in their hands.

A few of the servers cheered, long live the boss.

The cashier kept marveling that in fifteen years in the restaurant business she'd never once had a boss this generous.

Aunt Erica Lambert, who washed dishes, went so far as to call her husband, eyes red.

"Our boss just gave me a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus, more than half a year's pay. Now we've got our son's medical bills covered."

Watching the smiles light up every face, something warm settled in my chest too.

That was when the head chef, Clark Finch, walked up to me with four other cooks behind him.

"This place clears 2.8 million a year, and you give us fifty grand a head? What are we, beggars you're brushing off?"

"Since you're so 'generous,' let me give you a big gift too."

With that, he dropped a black bag at my feet.

In an instant, the noisy restaurant went quiet.

I looked down at the thing inside the black bag.

Yellow. It stank.

Feces.

The smile left my face, and I asked him, "Chef Finch, what's the meaning of this?"

Clark frowned, his face full of resentment.

"You don't know the meaning of it? A dozen-odd restaurants on this street have all shut down, and ours is the only Southern-style place packed to the doors."

"Why?"

"All because the few of us cook that well!"

"Without us, your place is exactly like the gift I just gave you. A pile of shit!"

Clark looked down at me from on high, that gaze like a savior passing judgment on an ungrateful mortal.

But to my eyes, it just looked ridiculous.

I watched Clark the way you'd watch a clown, and said nothing.

Seeing me stay silent, Clark took it as guilt, and his momentum swelled.

"The few of us cooks are in that back kitchen from dawn till late, working ourselves to death, and that's the only reason this place cleared two hundred and eighty grand. And in the end you split just fifty thousand each to us? How can your heart be so black?"

The cooks behind him nodded along, seething.

"Exactly. You can only make that kind of money because of us. Two hundred and eighty grand, and you give us fifty thousand a head? That's just cheap."

"Same location, same restaurant business, so why can everyone else not stay open while you strike it rich? All because we cook that well, isn't it?"

Seeing them go further and further, Aunt Erica couldn't stand it and stepped up.

"Chefs, the boss already pays us double the industry average, and giving everyone an extra fifty thousand this time is already a lot. Running a shop is risky, after all, and we're just ordinary hired hands here..."

Before she could finish, Clark shot her a vicious glare.

"What's a dishwasher doing butting in?"

"You think a place like this is held up by a dishwasher like you?"

Aunt Erica flushed, choked into silence, and lowered her head.

I frowned and looked at Clark. "So how much do you think would be fair?"

Clark held up five fingers.

"Fifty percent of the profits, at the very least. That's 1.4 million."

Some nerve, asking for that.

A handful of cooks, and they dared demand fifty percent of a restaurant's profits. Did they really think the place belonged to them?

I gave a cold laugh. "And if I say no?"

Clark snorted, arrogant. "Then we quit."

The four cooks behind him stepped forward in unison, striking a pose of united front.

"That's right! You don't split 1.4 million among the four of us, we all resign!"

"And it's not just this year's 1.4 million. Every year from now on, we want fifty percent of the net profit."

"Otherwise, your restaurant can sit there and wait to go under."

Listening to their threats, laid out with no cover at all, I smiled.

They thought this place drew all those customers because of their cooking.

What they didn't know was that those customers had come for me all along.

Wherever I opened my shop, that's where the customers went.

As for what they ate, they didn't care in the slightest.

I didn't say much. I just held Clark Finch's eyes and asked him one thing, plainly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Finch tilted his chin up, nose in the air, and scoffed.

"You don't actually think we're bluffing, do you?"

He pointed across the street at a storefront with a lease sign in the window.

"See that place across the road? Three times the size of yours, and it's up for rent right now."

"I already talked to the landlord. Cash in hand, and I can sign the lease any time I want."

"You wouldn't want us as your competition, would you?"

I looked where he was pointing.

That place across the street used to be a hot pot spot. It really was three times the size of mine. But the rent was three times as much too.

Leasing it, then paying to renovate it, would take a serious chunk of money out of Finch and the rest of them.

I looked at him and kept my voice level.

"You're that confident you can make a go of it?"

Finch didn't hesitate.

"Of course."

"We turned your place into a hit. We can do the exact same thing somewhere else."

The other four chefs jumped in behind him.

"Right. Your storefront's small, the location's nothing special, but people line up out the door every single day. You think that's not because of our cooking?"

"We take over that place across the street, all your regulars follow us over. Then what have you got to compete with?"

I smiled.

So they knew the location was bad after all.

This whole block was still under development. Nothing was settled, commercial or residential, and most days the street sat dead quiet.

Every shop that had ever opened here had gone under. No exceptions.

The only reason my place was packed every day was that my father's company sat five hundred meters up the street.

His employees walked over here, ten-odd minutes each way, on purpose, just to get on my good side and bank a little goodwill.

They were never coming for the food.

They were coming for the connection standing behind it.

Already picturing the new place across the street opening its doors and raking it in, Finch turned back to me, gloating.

"Denise Simmons, agree to split the restaurant's profits with us fifty-fifty from now on, and I'll keep the boys here working for you."

"Otherwise, I take them across the street and sign that lease today. New place opens, all your customers come running to me, and you've got no one to blame but yourself."

At that, Aunt Erica couldn't hold back.

"If you really lease the place across the street, isn't that just stealing the boss's business right in front of her?"

"Stealing?"

Finch let out a cold laugh.

"Those customers came for our cooking in the first place. What's any of that got to do with Denise Simmons?"

"If she's actually got what it takes, let her keep her customers. She can't, that just proves she's useless."

With that he ignored Erica entirely, turned to face me, and lifted his chin.

"Denise Simmons, either you hand over the 1.4 million like a good girl, or I go across the street and sign that lease. Your choice."

The place went quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Everyone was staring at me, waiting for my answer.

I gave it almost before he'd finished.

"Then go across the street."

"I wish you good business."

The speed of it stopped Finch and the others cold.

Something like disappointment flickered behind their eyes.

I knew exactly why they'd pulled this today. They were testing where my limit was.

Compared to sinking real money into a place across the street, what they wanted far more was to squeeze me for nothing.

The moment I caved and handed over 1.4 million out of fear they'd quit, they'd run the same play tomorrow and threaten me for a share of the company itself.

Finch stared at me, hard, hunting my face for some crack, some sign I was only putting on a front.

There wasn't one.

I even gave him a little smile.

"Why are you still here? Weren't you dying to go open your new place?"

That seemed to sting him. Finch clenched his jaw and spat it out, furious.

"Fine. Denise Simmons, since you don't know a good thing when you see it, don't blame us for what comes next."

"We've got the skills. We're not worried about business, and we'll make our money. This dump of yours, without us, can just sit here and go under!"

With that, he led the other four chefs toward the door.

But two steps out, he stopped short, turned back to the servers still inside, and spoke with all the confidence in the world.

"Listen, you've all seen it for yourselves. The only reason this place does the business it does is the skill of the few of us in that kitchen."

"Once we walk, this place won't last long before it folds. Stick with Denise Simmons and you'll be living on nothing but air."

He pointed across the street again.

"We're going to go sign that lease with the landlord right now. When the new place opens, we'll be short-staffed for sure. Anyone who wants to come over, I promise you'll earn more than you ever did in Denise Simmons's shop."

"A shot at money like this. You sure you don't want to walk out with us?"

The servers glanced at one another, and their resolve began to crack.

Marianne Lawrence the cashier looked over at the space across the street, three times the size of ours, her eyes darting for a moment, and she was the first to speak up to me.

"Boss, I think Chef Finch has a point. Once they're gone, there's no way this place survives. I've got a mortgage to pay, I really can't afford to be out of work. Today's my last day."

Once Marianne led the way, the rest of the servers started scrambling for reasons too.

"Boss, the truth is this place got popular because of Chef Finch and his people. Once they walk, there's no keeping the customers. You've been good to us this past year, I won't pretend otherwise, but that doesn't mean I have to go down with a restaurant that's about to fold."

"Boss, my wife just had our second kid, expenses are piling up, I can't afford to gamble."

"Boss, people move up in the world. Don't hold it against me."

Eight servers, five cooks, one cashier, one dishwasher. Fifteen people in all.

Fourteen of them handed in their resignations.

Looking at those familiar faces, something in me went cold.

Every one of them had been here since the day we opened, and over the past year I honestly felt I'd treated them well.

Wages double what other places paid, red envelopes at every holiday. If anyone had an emergency or a hardship, one word from them and I never hesitated.

But a few sentences from Clark Finch, and they turned on me without so much as a pause.

I didn't stop them.

Water flows down, people climb up. I understood.

Anyone who could be pried loose with a handful of words would leave today or leave tomorrow.

In the whole restaurant, only Aunt Erica hadn't said a thing.

Someone asked her, "Aunt Erica, you're not leaving?"

She shook her head, firm. "I'm Erica Lambert. I don't have much of an education, but I know who's good to me."

"Six months ago my son got sick out of nowhere and ended up in the hospital. I didn't have the money for the bills, and the boss quietly covered fifty thousand for me. Never said a word about it. I've kept that in my heart ever since."

Her voice was soft, but she held her back perfectly straight.

"A person can't forget where they came from."

"If I walked out today, I'd never sleep easy again for the rest of my life."

Clark Finch let out a scornful laugh.

"With a mind like yours, you'll be a lousy dishwasher your whole life, poor right into the grave."

"Let her stay and starve with Denise Simmons. Come on, we're going."

Once everyone had cleared out, it was just me and Aunt Erica left in the place.

The empty restaurant, tables and chairs lined up neat, and on the wall the group photo from opening day, the whole staff in it.

In the photo, Clark Finch stood right beside me, grinning wider than anyone.

Looking at it, I couldn't help thinking back to a year ago.

Finch had just started then, buried in debt, with his creditors chasing him all the way into the restaurant.

He had no way out. He knelt in front of me and begged, frantic.

"Boss, please, save me. My wife's in the ICU, it costs thousands a day, I only borrowed from loan sharks because I had no choice."

"I'm begging you, help me. Just this once, and I'll work myself to the bone for you the rest of my life!"

I helped him up and asked how much he needed.

He said two hundred thousand.

I transferred it without another word.

And I raised his pay on top of that. Other restaurants paid a head cook eight thousand a month. I gave him fifteen.

Later, when his wife was discharged, he brought her and their kid in to thank me, his eyes red.

"Boss, you're the one who saved my whole family. From today on my life is yours. Wherever you are, that's where I'll be. Anyone who crosses you, I, Clark Finch, will be the first to fight them to the death."

Such moving words.

Back then I really did think I'd found a man who repaid a kindness.

I never imagined that the same man who swore he'd work himself to the bone for me would one day stand against me with every last person from my restaurant behind him, unwilling to leave me even a way out.

I gave a self-mocking little laugh, took the group photo down off the wall, and tossed it into a drawer.

Right then, my father called.

"Denise, those subsidiaries under my group just expanded by more than eight hundred people last month. They'll probably be coming to your place to eat from now on, so get things ready for that."

"Sure," I said.

A big order like this couldn't have come at a better time.

My father went on.

"Do you have enough cooks at your place? Want me to send a batch of people over?"

"Honestly, the few cooks you've got are pretty ordinary. Last time I heard several of your own staff complaining that if it weren't for your sake, they wouldn't even want to eat that food if you handed it to them for free."

I paused for a second.

So that was it. No wonder the place did booming business every single day and yet there was always so much left over. Clark Finch and the rest just couldn't cook.

And these were the people who wanted to strike out on their own and open a bigger restaurant?

I laughed.

"Sure. I happen to be short on people right now."

"Dad, I'm planning to expand the place. I'll need quite a few more hands when that happens. Just arrange it all for me at once."

My father agreed at once.

"Sure. Oh, and my company's starting its annual holiday break today. We're back to work on the seventh. If you're expanding, it's best to have everything ready before the seventh."

I gave a quick reply, hung up, and told Aunt Erica to go home and rest first, that she could just come in to work on the seventh.

The days that followed, I threw myself into the expansion.

I leased two shops on each side of my restaurant.

Four storefronts in all, and just like that the total floor space multiplied several times over.

The renovation crew was one my father's company had worked with for years, fast and good at what they did.

I had them push day and night, two shifts around the clock, people resting but the machines never stopping.

I was on-site every day, hands on everything from the overall layout right down to the placement of a single light.

Finch wasn't idle either.

Word was the four of them had emptied their savings just to lease the shop across the street, then scraped together loans and borrowed money from every direction to fund their own renovation.

When he saw me take on four shops all at once, Finch burst out laughing and jeered at me.

"Denise Simmons, has your brain gone soft?"

"Your staff have all walked out, your customers are about to come over to me, and you still dare to expand?"

"You really think you'll have that many customers?"

I gave a faint smile.

"Don't trouble yourself over it."

The other cooks stared at me like I was an idiot, and the servers just sighed and shook their heads.

"He's clearly cracked under the pressure. Putting on a brave face when he can't back it up."

"Right? Expanding to four shops all at once, even the old customer flow couldn't fill a place that size."

"Good thing I quit and came over with the chef. Otherwise I'd really be going hungry."

I explained nothing. I only pushed the renovations faster.

The four shops were knocked into one, the inner walls torn out and rebuilt into new partitions, the kitchen tripled in size, all-new stoves and equipment brought in.

The main hall held close to sixty tables, and the second floor was all private rooms.

My father moved fast too. On the fifth he sent over a few dozen new employees.

On the sixth day of the new year, Aunt Erica came in early, saying she wanted to wash all the bowls and chopsticks to get ready for opening the next day.

She walked in, took one look at the restaurant that had grown several times over, and froze.

"Boss, this... is this still our place? How did it get so big?"

I smiled and poured her a glass of water.

"We've expanded, Aunt Erica. From now on you're the manager here. Your job is to keep an eye on the staff and make sure nobody slacks off."

"Your pay is eighteen thousand a month."

Aunt Erica stared at me, stunned, her eyes full of gratitude.

On the seventh, the new restaurant officially opened.

Finch had chosen today to open his too.

My place was called "Sichuan Skillet."

His was called "Authentic Sichuan Skillet."

And not only that, he'd hung a banner across his storefront that was impossible to miss.

"The original team from the Sichuan Skillet across the street! New location now open, more authentic than ever!"

Aunt Erica read it and was instantly livid.

"Boss, Finch is flat-out using our name to pull in customers."

"How is that any different from robbery?"

I smiled easily. "Relax. My people, he can't take."

The words had barely left me when a commotion rose from the top of the street.

Everyone turned to look. Around the corner came a huge crowd, streaming in.

They packed the street from end to end, more than the eye could take in.

At the sight of that vast, surging line, Finch lit up with excitement.

"They're here, they're here!"

"Our customers, all of them!"

The cooks and servers beside him were beside themselves.

"My God, this many?"

"All those flyers and promotion we did these past few days really paid off."

"Of course. Our cooking's got a solid reputation. The regulars all remember us!"

"We're rich, we're rich, this time we're really going to be rich!"

Watching their thrilled faces, I smiled too.

The real show was finally about to begin.