The morning sun filtered through the windows of the Drunken River Moon Restaurant as I approached its elegant entrance. The building stood like a monument to wealth, its marble facade and gold-trimmed doors designed to intimidate anyone who didn't belong to New York City's elite.
I had decided to treat myself to a good meal after the morning's events at the apothecary. Dr. Graves's generous gift of the hundred-year-old Lingzhi had left me in surprisingly good spirits, and Isaac Thorne's platinum membership card felt reassuring in my pocket.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."
The familiar voice made me pause at the restaurant's entrance. Damien Pierce stood near the ornate doors, his expensive suit perfectly tailored and his smile dripping with mockery.
"If it isn't the country bumpkin himself," Damien continued, his voice carrying loud enough for other patrons to hear.
Behind him, two figures emerged from the shadows of the entrance. Bella Morgan looked as beautiful as ever, her designer dress highlighting her perfect figure. Her younger sister Clara stood beside her, wearing an equally expensive outfit and the same contemptuous expression.
"Ethan Hayes," Bella said, her voice cold. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to eat," I replied simply.
"To eat?" Clara laughed sharply. "Do you have any idea how expensive this place is?"
"I'm aware it's a nice restaurant."
"Nice?" Damien stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "The cheapest meal here costs more than most people make in a month."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not most people."
Bella's perfectly manicured hand gestured dismissively. "Ethan, stop embarrassing yourself. We all know you don't have the money for a place like this."
"You're right," I said calmly. "I don't need money."
The three of them exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.
"Oh, this is rich," Clara giggled. "He doesn't need money. Are you planning to wash dishes to pay for your meal?"
"Maybe he thinks his mountain charm will convince them to give him free food," Damien added.
"Actually," I said, walking toward the entrance, "that's exactly what I'm planning."
Their laughter died abruptly.
"What did you just say?" Bella's voice was sharp.
"I said I'm planning to eat for free."
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
I pushed past them toward the door, but Damien grabbed my arm.
"Hold on there, country boy. You just admitted you're planning to dine and dash."
"I never said anything about dashing."
"Then how exactly do you plan to eat for free?" Clara demanded.
"That's my business."
"Actually," Bella's voice turned vicious, "it's about to become everyone's business."
She followed me through the restaurant's entrance, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior, with crystal chandeliers, silk wallpaper, and tables set with fine china.
"Excuse me, everyone," Bella called out loudly. "I need to warn you all about something."
The elegant dining room fell quiet. Well-dressed patrons looked up from their expensive meals, their expressions curious.
"This man," Bella pointed directly at me, "just admitted outside that he plans to eat here without paying."
Gasps echoed through the restaurant. Several people stood up from their tables.
"He's a freeloader," Clara added, her voice carrying clearly through the silence. "He thinks he can trick you into giving him free food."
"That's not what I said," I protested.
"It's exactly what you said," Damien declared. "We all heard you admit you don't have money and plan to eat for free."
The restaurant manager, a thin man in an expensive suit, hurried over. His face was flushed with anger.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave immediately."
"I haven't done anything wrong."
"You've admitted to planning theft of services," the manager said firmly. "That's grounds for immediate removal."
"I never said I was planning to steal anything."
"Then how do you intend to pay for your meal?" a well-dressed woman called out from a nearby table.
"I don't need to pay because the owner said I don't have to."
The entire restaurant erupted in laughter.
"The owner?" Bella's voice was thick with mockery. "You expect us to believe Isaac Thorne gave you permission to eat for free?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Impossible," the manager said. "Mr. Thorne doesn't give free meals to anyone."
"He does to me."
"Sir," the manager's voice grew stern, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, or I'll call security."
The crowd was growing hostile. I could see disgust and anger on every face around me.
"This is embarrassing," an elderly man muttered loudly. "Some people have no shame."
"Look at his clothes," a woman whispered. "He obviously doesn't belong here."
"I can't believe he thought he could just walk in and demand free food," another patron said.
Bella stepped closer, her smile triumphant. "Ethan, you're making a complete fool of yourself. Just admit you can't afford to eat here and leave."
"I'm not leaving."
"Then prove it," Damien challenged. "Show us some evidence that Isaac Thorne gave you special privileges."
The crowd murmured agreement. Everyone was staring at me now, their expressions ranging from amusement to outright hostility.
"Yes," Clara added sweetly. "If you really have permission to eat for free, surely you have some proof."
The manager crossed his arms. "Sir, I work directly for Mr. Thorne. If he had authorized free meals for anyone, I would know about it."
"Maybe he forgot to tell you," I said.
"Mr. Thorne doesn't forget important details like that."
"Then maybe it's not important enough to mention."
The crowd laughed again, but it was harsher now. Someone called out, "Just throw him out already!"
"Sir," the manager said, his patience clearly exhausted, "you have thirty seconds to provide proof of your claims or leave voluntarily."
Bella's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Thirty seconds, Ethan. Clock's ticking."
"This is painful to watch," Damien said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I almost feel sorry for him."
"Don't feel sorry," Clara replied. "He brought this on himself."
The manager pulled out his phone. "I'm calling security now."
"That won't be necessary."
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the black card Isaac Thorne had given me that morning. The diamond-edged membership card caught the light from the chandeliers.
"Fine," I said, my patience finally exhausted. "You want proof?"
I slammed the card down on the nearest table.
The manager stepped forward to examine it. His face went pale. His hands shook as he picked up the card.
"Diamond membership card!" he exclaimed in shock.