The man in the booth cleared his throat softly. “That won’t be necessary.”
Harlan spun toward him. “This doesn’t concern you, pal. You want to eat here, you pay like everyone else.”
The man reached into his coat slowly, deliberately. Harlan bristled, expecting trouble. Instead, the man pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open. Inside was a driver’s license and a business card.
Harlan’s face drained of color.
The card read: Thomas J. Riverside – Regional Director, Riverside Hospitality Group.
This diner—this entire chain—was named after his family. Thomas Riverside had founded it thirty years ago and still owned controlling interest. He visited stores unannounced twice a year to see how things really ran when no one was watching.
Harlan’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Mr. Riverside… sir… I didn’t… you look…”
“Different without the suit?” Thomas finished gently. He stood, leaving the burger untouched. “I’ve been sitting here for almost an hour. No one greeted me. No one asked if I needed anything. Except her.” He nodded toward Sarah, who looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her.
Harlan stammered. “Sir, I can explain—”