Chapter 4 - The Boardroom and the Beast
Stepping into the corporate boardroom of Scott Hospitality Group three weeks later felt like walking onto a battlefield wearing a neon target.
As the newly appointed Director of Culinary Quality Assurance, Evelyn had spent the last twenty-one days auditing every single kitchen across John’s eleven luxury properties in the Midwest. She had fired three more corrupt head chefs, restructured the supply chain contracts, and instituted a zero-tolerance policy for substandard ingredients.
Naturally, the old guard was not pleased.
“This is an outrage!” Arthur Pendelton, the senior vice president of operations—a man who had been with the company since John’s father ran it—slammed his hand onto the long glass conference table during the monthly executive meeting. “We are talking about altering longstanding vendor relationships that have sustained this company for decades, all based on the whims of a former cleaning staffer!”
Around the table, twenty regional managers murmured in agreement.
Evelyn sat calmly near the foot of the table, wearing a sharp, charcoal-gray pantsuit that John’s executive assistant had helped her select. She didn't flinch at Pendelton’s outburst. She simply opened her dossier binder.
“Vendor relationships, Arthur?” Evelyn asked, her voice calm and crystal clear. “Is that what you call the shell company registered in your wife’s maiden name that has been supplying our hotels with inflated dairy invoices?”
The room went dead silent.
Arthur’s face turned a violent shade of crimson. “You—that is an unsubstantiated accusation! I will sue you for—'
“It’s substantiated by three bank transfers and a wire receipt from our corporate accounts dating back to last November,” John intervened from the head of the table. He hadn't raised his voice, but the absolute coldness in his tone silenced every murmur in the room. “Arthur, you have twenty-four hours to resign quietly, or I hand these documents directly to the federal prosecutor’s office. Your choice.”
Arthur stared at John, then threw his leather portfolio across the room, stood up, and stormed out of the boardroom, slamming the double doors behind him.
The remaining executives stared straight ahead, suddenly finding the wood grain of the conference table intensely fascinating.
John turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Evelyn with a subtle, approving gleam.
“Are there any other questions regarding the culinary audit?” John asked the room.
Nobody spoke.
“Meeting adjourned,” John said.
As the executives scrambled to pack their briefcases and exit the room, Evelyn closed her binder, letting out a long, slow breath.
“You’re ruthless, Mr. Scott,” she muttered, standing up to gather her papers.
“I’m efficient,” John corrected, walking over to her side of the table. “And it’s John, remember? We moved past formal titles the morning you critiqued my room-service coffee.”
“Only because your room-service coffee tasted like burnt tires and broken dreams.”
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John laughed—a genuine, deep sound that rarely surfaced in boardrooms. “Touché. Are you free this evening? There’s a new farm-to-table bistro in the West Loop that I want you to audit. Purely for business, of course.”
Evelyn paused, a faint smile touching the corners of her mouth. “Only if I get to order dessert first.”
