The Message
I pulled out my phone, typed a single text to my operations manager, and hit send.
Within minutes, waitstaff began folding linens, clearing glasses, and quietly packing up trays of untouched food.
At first, no one noticed.
Then came the whispers.
A waiter lifted a half-eaten steak from a guest’s plate and murmured, “Excuse me, sir,” before disappearing into the kitchen.
The violinists stopped mid-song, placed their bows down, and began packing their instruments.
Margaret’s smile froze mid-toast.
“What—what’s going on?” she hissed into the microphone, trying to keep her voice steady.
