The late afternoon hum of Sage Palate, one of Harry Castillo’s most lucrative branches, carried that familiar scent of espresso and grilled rosemary chicken. He arrived unannounced, as he often did—sleek black suit, watch glinting like a statement, not an accessory. Staff straightened at the sight of him. Some whispered; others offered tight smiles.

Harry walked the floor like he owned time itself. In a way, he did.

He was halfway through inspecting the wine display when the glass door chimed. A young adult—early twenties, maybe—walked in. Nervous. Clutching a thin folder. Their clothes didn’t match the restaurant’s posh interior: pressed but clearly secondhand, shoes scuffed from long walks.

The receptionist looked up. “Oh, hi. Are you here to dine or—?”

“I’m here to apply for a job.” The voice trembled, but not from weakness—from something heavier. Desperation wrapped in hope.

Harry lingered nearby, pretending to check a bottle label.

The receptionist gave an apologetic smile. “I’m really sorry, but we’re fully staffed right now. We can keep your application, though, and call when we have an opening.”

“Please.” The word cracked, desperate. “I can clean tables, wash dishes, anything. I just... I really need work. It doesn’t even have to be full-time.”

The receptionist hesitated. “Even part-time needs HR’s approval,” she said softly. “And today’s not ideal. The owner’s here for inspection.”

The applicant’s head lifted slightly. “The owner?”

Harry’s reflection met theirs in the polished glass of the wine case. He turned then—slowly—buttoning his jacket. The sound of it echoed faintly.

“That would be me,” he said.

The young one froze, unsure whether to bow or run. Harry approached, his voice calm but weighted. “You’re persistent,” he noted. “That’s rare.”

The receptionist stepped aside, almost relieved. Harry’s gaze lingered longer than necessary, eyeing them up and down. “I don’t usually make exceptions. But sometimes, I like to see potential for myself.” A pause. The air tightened. “Come by tomorrow,” Harry continued. “We’ll talk. Not about cleaning tables—about what you can... offer.”

Harry just found a new... obsession.