Chapter 3 - The Restaurant Riot
Inside The Grandview, the atmosphere had shifted from a joyous celebration to a waking nightmare.
The sommelier was still standing by the table, staring at Brandon with a mixture of polite disdain and awkward embarrassment. The rest of the restaurant patrons at nearby tables had noticed the commotion, casting quiet, sideways glances at the Miller family table.
"What do you mean, declined?" Adelaide hissed, her face flushing a deep, mottled crimson that clashed violently with her silk blouse. "Do you have any idea who we are? My son is a vice president at Apex Media! Run the card again!"
"Madam, I have run three separate cards provided by Mr. Miller," the sommelier said coolly, dropping the plastic rectangles back onto the white linen tablecloth. "All three have been rejected by the issuing banks with a terminal fraud and asset-lock code. Unless someone else at this table has a valid form of payment, your current balance—including the open bar and prime rib entrees—stands at four thousand, eight hundred and twenty dollars."
"Four thousand?!" Courtney shrieked, dropping her phone onto her plate. "Are you out of your mind? We ordered the king crab! Brandon, fix this right now! Call your bank!"
Brandon was sweating profusely now, his hands trembling as he furiously tapped his phone screen, watching his banking apps load endless spinning circles before crashing entirely.
"My apps aren't working," Brandon stammered, looking up at his mother and sister with wide, panic-stricken eyes. "Something... something is wrong with the accounts. They're locked."
"Locked?" Adelaide scoffed, standing up from her chair, her jewelry clinking loudly. "Don't be ridiculous, Brandon. You probably forgot to pay a monthly maintenance fee or triggered a security flag because you're spending in the city. Call Elena! Use her card! She has that corporate account!"
Brandon felt a knot twist so tightly in his stomach he thought he might vomit. He had spent the last two hours bragging to his family about how he had put Elena "in her place," how he had walked out on her in the hospital, and how she was just an emotional, dependent burden holding him back.
Calling her now—begging the woman he had abandoned just hours after childbirth to bail him out of a restaurant bill—was a humiliation worse than death.
"I... I can't," Brandon muttered, staring down at his lap.
"What do you mean you can't?" Courtney snapped, grabbing her designer handbag. "Let me see your phone. I'll call her. She always answers me when I mock her interior design choices."
Courtney snatched Brandon’s phone off the table and dialed Elena’s number. She put it on speakerphone so Adelaide and the rest of their extended family members seated nearby could hear.
The phone rang twice. Then, a crisp, automated voice cut through the restaurant air.
“The subscriber you have dialed is currently unavailable, or your number has been blocked from reaching this destination. Please hang up and try again.”
Courtney stared at the screen in utter disbelief. "Blocked? She blocked me? Does she know who we are?!"
At that exact moment, the restaurant manager approached the table, flanked by two burly security guards in dark suits. His expression was all business.
"Mr. Miller," the manager said coldly. "We have attempted to process your payment multiple times. Since no valid funds are available, we require you to settle this bill immediately, or we will be forced to contact the Chicago Police Department regarding theft of services."
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The entire dining room went dead silent. Dozens of eyes locked onto the Miller family. Adelaide gasped, clutching her chest as if she were having a heart attack. Courtney started hyperventilating, threatening to sue the restaurant for defamation.
And Brandon sat frozen in his chair, realizing for the very first time that the safety net he had taken for granted his entire adult life was gone—and he had cut the rope himself.
