An Unwanted Interruption
The manager strode across the dining room carpet, grabbed the cloth napkin off the wooden tabletop, and crumpled it in her fist.
She planted her boots in front of the seated diner and pointed an index finger toward the front lobby.
Margaret Hale pulled her wool overcoat tighter around her shoulders and rested both palms against the polished wood of the table.
She explained that she had an appointment arriving in five minutes.
The manager leaned down, gripped the back of the leather dining chair, and yanked it away while Margaret was still rising to her feet.
Margaret caught her balance by placing her palm flat on the table’s edge.
A Document on the Table
The manager gestured sharply toward an empty corner near the coat racks, demanding that Margaret stand there instead.
When Margaret repeated her appointment time, the manager smirked and asked if she was meeting the cleaning crew.
Margaret did not raise her voice.
She unclasped her leather portfolio and withdrew a folded, multi-page document.
She extended the paperwork across the linen napkins directly toward the manager’s chest.
“Read the landlord line,” Margaret said, keeping her chin up.
The Signature Line
The manager took the folder, her eyebrows furrowing as her eyes tracked down the printed contract.
The header read “Lease Agreement.”
Her thumb paused beneath the final signature line, where the text identified the property owner as Hale Properties, owned by Margaret Hale.
The color drained from the manager’s cheeks, and her jaw dropped slightly.
Margaret stepped closer, looking straight into the younger woman’s eyes.
“You rent this restaurant from me,” Margaret said.
The manager pressed the leather folder against her stomach, taking a small step backward as her shoulders slumped forward.
A Demand at the Front Desk
The manager began stammering an excuse, extending both hands with palms open to claim she was simply keeping reserved tables open for patrons.
Margaret squared her shoulders, her jaw clenching as she stepped past the cleared chair.
She raised her voice, noting that a chair had just been pulled out from under a seventy-six-year-old woman.
Margaret turned and marched directly toward the host stand near the entrance.
She pressed her fingertip firmly onto the keypad of the black desk telephone resting on the wooden podium.
The manager hurried after her, clasping her hands together beneath her chin and asking for a chance to explain.
Margaret kept her finger pressed against the dial pad, pointing the manager toward the telephone receiver.
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