He thrust his phone toward them. The shaky footage showed Victoria's shove from three different angles uploaded by guests who'd witnessed the assault. Comments flooded in faster than a burst dam. Karen behavior at its worst mixed with this waitress got what she deserved. The divide fell along predictable lines.
Those who saw racism and those who refused to acknowledge it. How bad is it? Patricia asked, though Derek's expression already provided the answer. Booking cancellations are coming in. The main number is jammed with complaints.
Corporate is asking questions. He paced like a caged animal. Mrs. Ashford is threatening a lawsuit if we don't fire Kesha immediately. Kesha continued writing, her pen scratching across damp paper. She noted Derek's body language, Patricia's conflicted expressions, the institutional machinery grinding toward its predetermined conclusion.
What are you writing now? Derek snapped, observing how management responds to legal pressure versus moral obligation. Her clinical tone unnerved him. It's fascinating from a sociological perspective. Derek grabbed for the notebook, but Kesha pulled it away smoothly.
That's private property. Not on company time. It isn't. Actually, under Florida labor law. Stop.
Derek's voice cracked. Just stop with the legal talk. You're a waitress, not a lawyer. The assumption hung between them like smoke. Patricia shifted uncomfortably, recognizing the dangerous territory they were entering.
Sarah Lane appeared in the doorway, clutching her tablet like a shield. Mr. Martinez, Mrs. Ashford is demanding to speak with you. She says if Kesha isn't terminated in the next hour, her husband will pull their corporate account. How much is that account worth? Patricia asked quietly.
2.3 million annually, Sarah whispered. The number fell like a judge's gavel. Patricia's pen moved toward the termination papers. Kesha's phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number. Jonathan, it's time.
I have everything we need. She typed back quickly. Jonathan, it's time. I have everything we need. Derek caught a glimpse of the screen.
Who's Jonathan? Your boyfriend is coming to cause trouble. My research partner. Kesha's smile was small but unmistakable. We've been studying this for 11 months.
The confidence in her voice made something cold crawl up Derek's spine. Waitresses didn't have research partners. They had boyfriends and baby daddies and drama. Outside, Miguel knocked on the window, holding up his phone and pointing toward the parking lot. A black town car was pulling into the circular drive, the kind that screamed money and power.
"Looks like your ride is here, " Derek said dismissively. "Security will escort you to collect your things. " Patricia hesitated, her pen still hovering. Something about Kesha's calm demeanor suggested she was missing crucial information. 20 years in HR had taught her to trust her instincts.