A man in a tailored suit stepped through the doorway and stopped before me, hands clasped, posture deferential. It was Chester Bell, the floor manager of Pinecrest Pavilion. I'd met him once before, when I'd arranged this private room.
I kept my eyes on Alberta, but my words were for him.
"Your hidden menu. I want one of everything."
"And two bottles of Hennessy. The best you have."
Chester said nothing. He simply nodded and withdrew.
The silence stretched. Everyone had frozen mid-motion—even Alberta, her eyes wide as saucers.
Then she doubled over laughing.
"Oh my God." She wiped at her eyes. "You really can't help yourself, can you? A hidden menu? My husband and I have been here at least ten times—there's no such thing." She straightened, smirking. "If you're going to lie, at least make it believable."
The others exchanged glances, then turned to stare at me.
I could see it in their faces. They were waiting for me to crash and burn.
To them, I was still the same broke fool Alberta had thrown away like garbage.