dinner. What she didn’t know was that the man calmly cutting his daughter’s chicken had the authority to fire her before security reached the dining room.
Daniel Mercer noticed the manager watching him before he’d finished his first bite.
He sat in a corner booth at Bellmont House, one of the city’s most expensive family restaurants, dressed in faded jeans, work boots, and a dark jacket still damp from the rain. Across from him, his eight-year-old daughter, Sophie, colored a paper menu.
“Daddy, can I have another lemonade?”
Daniel smiled. “
