Bullies Targets The Wrong A Waitress — Unaware She's A Karate Black Belt Working Part-Time
Chapter 16
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"Please, sit," Marcus said, settling behind his desk. "Can I offer either of you something? Coffee, water?""We're not here to be comfortable," Dotty said, taking a seat anyway. "I want to understand something, Marcus. Why my diner? Out of every property on Main Street, why mine?""It's not personal," Marcus said smoothly. "It's simply the right location for the project: foot traffic, parking, proximity to the new development corridor.""That's the speech you give reporters," Dotty said. "I'd like the truth."Something flickered behind his eyes—brief, controlled. "The truth is business, Mrs. Carter. Nothing more complicated than that.""Your son knocked over my husband's badge case," Dotty said. "Called an old man names for no reason. Wrote lies about my granddaughter online. That doesn't feel like business to me."Marcus's jaw tightened slightly. "My son is nineteen. Young men that age make mistakes. I'll speak with him.""You said that already," Joe said quietly. "Nothing's changed."He looked at her properly for the first time since they'd sat down, studying her face like he was trying to place something. "You're the granddaughter," he said. "The waitress.""Josephine Carter," Joe said. "Gus Carter's granddaughter, if that name means anything to you."For just a moment, something shifted in Marcus Whitfield's expression. It was gone almost as fast as it appeared, smoothed back over with practiced calm, but Joe saw it: she'd spent years learning to read small movements, tiny shifts in balance and breath. That flicker was not nothing."It means the department lost a good captain," Marcus said carefully. "A long time ago.""You knew him," Joe said. It wasn't really a question."This town isn't large, Miss Carter. Everyone knew everyone once."Dotty was watching him closely now too. "Marcus," she said, using his first name deliberately, the way you speak to someone you've decided to stop being polite with. "I've lived in this town my whole life. I don't remember you and Gus being close.""We weren't close," Marcus said. "We crossed paths, that's all.""Then why does your voice change when you say his name?" Joe asked.The question hung there a moment too long. Marcus's eyes drifted just briefly to the framed photograph on his desk—the young man in the old truck—before he caught himself and looked back at her."I think this meeting has run its course," Marcus said, standing, his tone cooling several degrees. "I appreciate you coming in. My offer for the property stands. It's generous, and it expires the day of the council vote.""And if we refuse it?" Dotty asked, standing as well."Then the town council decides," Marcus said. "Not me. I simply presented a proposal. Democracy handles the rest.""Democracy that your family funds half the campaigns in this county," Joe said.Marcus smiled thinly—the first real smile of the meeting, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're sharp," he said. "Your grandfather was sharp too, as I recall."