Chapter 1

I've been running a grilled fish restaurant in Millennium Square for six years now. Each time the queue for my restaurant gets noticeably longer, the mall management comes knocking on my door to raise the rent.

At 5:00 pm today, the waiting list for my restaurant reaches the 200th table. I instruct my staff to prepare three additional cases of fish.

At 6:00 pm, Walt Sutton, the mall manager, shows up at my office and slams a new lease contract onto my desk.

"Congratulations, Mr. Connor. The mall's foot traffic has multiplied by three times this month," he says while pointing at the third page of the contract. "As it is, the mall is having a hard time keeping up with all the extra maintenance needs, so your rent will have to be increased by 50%."

I glance at the contract.

"That's not what we agreed on last time," I remark.

"That was then, and this is now. You've got three days to decide whether you're signing the contract."

In just six years, the rent has already doubled from 10 thousand to 20 thousand. Now, he wants to increase it by another 50%.

After he leaves, I grab my phone and make a call.

"Hey, Mr. Whitman, it's me. About that spot you offered to me in Avant Plaza, I'll be ready to move in after three days."

Chapter 1

The next morning, the official notice was delivered to the restaurant. Printed on the A4-sized sheet of paper, complete with the management office's header, was the announcement that rent would be increasing by 50%, effective three days from the notice date. At the bottom, there was a line of fine print.

"This notice only applies to Unit 402, Zone A, 4th floor—Fred's Fish Feast."

There were 12 units on the same floor, but only my restaurant was named in the notice. I went looking for Walt Sutton with the notice in hand.

"Why am I the only one whose rent is increasing, Mr. Sutton?" I questioned.

Walt took a sip of his tea before replying, "The others don't have people lining up outside their stores, while your waiting list reached up to 200 tables. Since you make more money, you should pay more. That's only fair.

"Besides, the mall's foot traffic has tripled because of the prestige that comes with Millennium Square. Your grilled fish restaurant is the one benefiting from the mall's popularity. Don't get it backward."

As I stared at him, I was reminded of what the situation had been like six years ago, when Millennium Square had just opened for business.

The promotional ads for the mall had flooded the entire city, but businesses came and went. There were no customers, no subway station, and the nearest bus stop was half a mile away. The fountain in the first-floor atrium had never been turned on. The mall couldn't even afford the water bill.

There had only been three businesses operating inside the entire mall when I signed the lease for the innermost corner unit on the fourth floor—a tea shop, a hair salon, and me.

During the first month, fewer than ten customers walked into my restaurant each day. I stood outside the mall, handing out flyers. Most fell to the ground and were swept into the trash by the cleaning staff.

In my second month here, the tea shop closed. And in the third month, the owner of the hair salon returned the keys to the mall management as well.

Two entire floors of Millennium Square stayed perpetually dark.

I was the one who used all of my savings to invest in social media advertising. I created 300 reels and posted them religiously, never missing a day. After two years of hard work, I managed to bring that unknown "grilled fish restaurant on the fourth floor of Millennium Square" out of obscurity to become one of the most viral dining spots in the city.

During my third year, people started lining up outside the restaurant. In the fourth year, the subway station opened, and other businesses began moving into the mall.

By the fifth year, the mall was fully occupied.

And now, in the sixth year, Walt could sit here in his office and tell me that I was the one piggybacking off the mall's popularity.

But I didn't remind him of any of this. I simply said, "For the first three years after the mall opened, there were only three businesses in this entire mall. Every store that survived and managed to stay in business in this mall owes part of that to me. But now, you're telling me that I'm the one who's been benefiting from the mall's popularity?"

Walt put down his cup. The smile vanished from his face.

"That was then, and this is now. You've got three days to decide whether you're signing the contract."

He pushed the other cup on his desk toward me. "Have some tea before you go. It's still warm."

I stood up. "The tea's already gone cold."

After leaving the mall management office, I bumped into Duncan Bates, the owner of a barbecue restaurant in the mall. He was busy bringing in his new shipment of beer. When he saw me, he flashed a grin and handed me a cigarette.

"Business has been booming for you, huh, Fred?"

I didn't take the cigarette.

When I got back to the restaurant, Cameron Davis, one of my workers, handed me my phone. The group chat for the fourth-floor tenants of the mall was open on the screen. Duncan had sent a message to the group.

"The management office just said that they will start servicing the air-conditioning from the fourth floor this time. Everyone on this floor will be affected if someone refuses to sign the lease contract. You all know what I mean, right?"

Three people responded, acknowledging the update.

Two minutes later, a reply came from Edwin Layton, who ran a buffet grill. "Why should all of us suffer because of him? I've never missed a single rent payment."

Duncan swiftly replied, "The management only raised his rent this time. The air conditioning will stay off until he signs the new lease. Whose fault do you think that is?"

Chapter 2

The entire chat went quiet. There were 12 of us in the chat—11 other business owners besides me. But now, it was as still as a cemetery.

Duncan came in during the summer of the fourth year. In his first month of operations alone, he suffered a loss of 80 thousand dollars. I found him smoking outside, and he told me he would have to sell off his business next month.

I lent him 150 thousand dollars to cover his expenses and taught him a marketing trick. First, I had him rearrange his opening hours to match mine. Then, I told him to offer a 20% discount to those who were waiting in line for my restaurant.

By the third month, his barbecue restaurant started having a much higher table turnover rate.

The recipe for the dipping sauce Edwin used in his buffet grill restaurant came from my head cook, Lionel Kramer. I was the one who asked him to help Edwin with it.

Natasha Jones ran an oyster bar. On her first day of operations, even when it was already 2:00 pm, not a single customer entered the restaurant. I posted about her on my restaurant's social media account, sharing about the fairly decent meal I had at the mall's newly opened oyster bar.

At the time, I figured that since we were all on the same floor, it would be better for us as a whole if everyone's foot traffic increased.

After screenshotting what they said, I tapped out of the group chat.

When the mall closed at 10:00 pm, I shut the doors and asked the kitchen staff to stay for a bit. All 12 of the core team who worked at my restaurant gathered around the prep counter.

"We might have to move soon," I said. "Anyone willing to come with me will get a 30% raise."

Eric Fields was the first to raise his hand. Lionel and the others all followed suit. I had 12 people nodding in agreement.

I instructed them to keep this matter a secret.

Once the meeting was over, I locked the door to my office and opened the safe. The lease agreement Avant Plaza offered me was lying at the very bottom. They were offering me three years of waived rent and a 200-thousand-dollar subsidy for renovations. I would also be getting the storefront facing the entrance to the subway station on the basement level of the mall.

Just then, my phone screen lit up. Walt had just sent a new notice to the mall tenants' group chat. "Routine maintenance work for the air-conditioning system will begin on the fourth floor tomorrow. It is estimated to last one week."

I dismissed the notification and locked the screen.

…

At 10:00 am the next day, the air-conditioning shut off. All six of the kitchen stoves were blasting at full heat. The temperature in the kitchen went from 90 degrees to over 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Although the fans were blowing, all they did was circulate the hot air.

Eric, who was in charge of prep, was the first to surrender to the heat. He had to escape to the back for some air, his sweat pouring down his neck. The back of his uniform was already soaked through.

At 11:30 am, the first batch of customers came in. Less than ten minutes after sitting down, someone started using the menu to fan themselves.

A young mother with a child stood up, took her kid by the hand, and walked out. Before leaving, she commented, "I can't believe this mall isn't even willing to turn the air-conditioning on."

People started leaving bad reviews online.

"Half my soup was probably made up of my sweat."

"The fish wasn't the only thing grilled at the restaurant. I felt like a boiled lobster myself."

I called Walt. It rang six times before he answered. I heard a low hum coming from his end. He was in his office, with the air conditioning turned on.

"Hey, Mr. Connor," he said breezily. "Are things heating up at your restaurant? You should sign the contract. A single call from me, and the things will cool off in just ten minutes. It's just routine maintenance work, you know. I'm sure you understand."

"Why is it only the fourth floor that gets the air conditioning turned off?"

"It just so happens that's where the maintenance work is happening."

The call ended.

For the sake of my customers, I called in the part-time workers who usually only came on weekends and paid them triple their normal wages. I gave customers free ice cream, brought in extension cords for fans, and kept everyone working nonstop for three full hours.

At 2:00 pm, the door to my office at the restaurant flew open. Duncan marched in, followed by Edwin, Natasha, and a few other tenants from the fourth floor. They all squeezed inside my office, taking up almost half of it.

Duncan slammed the receipts from his sales today onto the desk. It was less than a third of what he usually got.

"Fred, why must the entire floor suffer along with you just because you're refusing to sign the contract? The mall management has already said that the duration of the air-conditioning being down hinges on your attitude. We're all paying the price of your actions!"

Edwin chimed in, "I don't care if you refuse to sign the contract. Just get the air conditioning back for us. Don't drag us down with you."

I glanced at the receipts before remarking, "Duncan, when you lost 80 thousand dollars during your first month of operations, who lent you 150 thousand to cover your expenses? Who taught you to adjust your opening hours and take advantage of my restaurant's popularity?"

Duncan stiffened.

I turned to Edwin next. "Who lent you his head cook to you to help you with your dipping sauce? Lionel spent three days working on the recipe, and we didn't charge you a single cent for it."

Glancing over at Natasha, I continued, "On your first day of business, you didn't get a single customer even when it was already 2:00 pm. Who posted about your oyster bar online?"

She turned her face away.

"But now, you've all shown up in my office, telling me not to drag you down with me?"

Not a single person answered me.

Eventually, Duncan stepped forward, his tone grim as he declared, "That was then, and this is now. Are we supposed to go down with you just because you helped us out once? It's none of your business that your rent has gone up. We just have one question for you—are you signing the lease or not?"

Chapter 3

Duncan glanced at the people behind him before saying to me, "Either you sign the lease today, or we'll submit a joint petition to have you kicked out of the fourth floor."

I looked at the others. Edwin kept his eyes fixed on the floor, while Natasha trembled as she stared at her phone. The others hiding behind them didn't even dare to let me look at them.

Snorting, I stared right into Duncan's eyes until he started averting his gaze.

"I see how it is. I won't forget every single word you people said today." My eyes shifted to Edwin and Natasha. "You guys had better not forget your words, either."

Duncan's lips parted, but in the end, he said nothing.

Once the tenants left, Cameron handed me his phone to show me a message Walt had sent to the fourth-floor tenants two days ago.

"Kindly take note, everyone. The routine maintenance work for the fourth-floor air-conditioning system will begin next week. If Fred Connor of Unit 402 cooperates with the mall management by signing the new lease contract, the maintenance work will end immediately. I suggest you all have a proper chat with him."

He even sent a smiling emoji with his message.

I took a screenshot and saved it in a folder I'd specifically set up. I'd already collected over a dozen pages of evidence in there.

That night, I stayed at the restaurant late at night.

For two days in a row, the kitchen staff stopped preparing extra fish in advance. Due to the heat, the freezer unit was severely overworked, and we were afraid it would break down. Lionel kept heading over to check the compressor with a temperature gauge.

At 1:00 am, I called up Kevin Whitman, the man in charge of Avant Plaza.

"It seems like I'll be making the move sooner than expected, Mr. Whitman. Can the renovation crew come in to start the work the night after tomorrow?"

"They can come by anytime! The unit has already been cleared out for you. We look forward to welcoming you!"

After ending the call, I checked the mall tenants' group chat. It had been silent all day. Walt hadn't sent any additional notices.

It was going to be Friday tomorrow. When I locked up the restaurant, I noticed that the lights in the other restaurants were still on. I could hear the buzz of the exhaust fans coming from the barbecue restaurant next door.

…

At 6:00 pm on Friday, I had over 230 tables on the waiting list. The waiting area was completely full, so the later arrivals had to stand along the corridor.

Cameron stood behind the counter, taking the reservations with one hand cupped over his ear.

Back in the kitchen, every stove was running. Lionel shouted, "We're out of cod!"

Eric immediately dashed toward the freezer unit.

At 6:15 pm, the lights in my restaurant went out. It wasn't a brief flicker. The lights simply died and never came back on. Every single bulb in the restaurant, along with the cash register and even the exhaust fans in the kitchen, went out.

But it was as bright as day out in the corridor.

The massive sign of the barbecue restaurant next door shone strongly, shining through the glass door and landing on table six, which was right by the entrance. The neon glow illuminated the piping hot grilled fish on the table, but every other table in the restaurant was covered in darkness.

My restaurant was the only one that lost power.

The dining area erupted. Some of them were still holding the serving spoon in midair. While the exhaust fans had stopped working, the grills were still sizzling away. The spicy smoke began to choke the customers, and some started to cough and sputter.

The situation in the kitchen was even worse. The door to the freezer unit couldn't be opened as the electronic lock had sealed shut after losing power. The 40 servings of fish that had been prepared in advance were now out of reach from us.

The residual heat from the grills remained, and without proper ventilation, the kitchen turned into a sauna.

Several customers stood up and opened the glass door. The cool air from the corridor rushed in, standing out starkly against the stifling heat inside the restaurant.

Someone glanced at the barbecue restaurant next door—brightly lit and filled to the brim with customers—before glancing back at the darkness of my restaurant.

Duncan was standing right behind the glass door of his restaurant, watching from a distance. When his eyes met mine, he hid behind a menu and ducked into the kitchen.

Even though he didn't say anything, I knew exactly what was going on.

I called Walt, but his phone was turned off. The receptionist at the mall management office said to me, "Mr. Sutton has left for the day. We don't know what's happening with the power circuit either."

I dropped the call and went back into the kitchen.

The electrical breaker box was at the very back of the storage room.

I crouched down and pulled the main switch. It wouldn't move. A brand-new lock hung over the breaker. It was still shiny and completely free of dust.

I returned to the dining area. The light from the emergency lamp only illuminated a small patch in front of the counter. All of the customers' faces were mostly shrouded in darkness.

Standing on a chair, I called out, "Everyone, may I have your attention?"

Some of the commotion subsided.

"Everything will be on the house today."

That got everyone quiet at last.

Chapter 4

"Those of you who have already finished and paid for your meals can come back next week with today's payment records and have one meal on the house. For those still waiting in line, everyone gets a 200-dollar voucher, plus a case of your soda of choice. Kindly leave your details with the front of house. We'll start distributing the compensation tomorrow," I declared.

For a moment, the dining area was silent. Then, in the darkness, someone called out, "But it's not your fault that the power went out, Mr. Connor!"

I replied, "All of you came here to dine at my restaurant today. Regardless of who's responsible for this situation, I can't let you guys pay for your food today."

My finance manager tugged on my sleeve and whispered, "Boss, we'd have to fork out at least 50 thousand dollars to cover the compensation you offered!"

"Just do it. We can't let this matter ruin our reputation," I said without hesitation.

The employees turned on the flashlights on their phones, the beams of white sweeping across the restaurant. They packed up the unfinished food at each table, took down everyone's information for the vouchers, and started carrying out cases of drinks.

Eric brought out every container of ice cream he could find and served it to every table.

"You're a great man, Mr. Connor," someone remarked.

Another one chimed in, "I'm swearing loyalty to this restaurant from now on. I'll keep being a regular no matter where you move to."

A middle-aged man walked up to me. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the front counter.

"I'll definitely make a social media post about your restaurant. There are hundreds of employees at my factory, you know. From now on, we'll reserve your restaurant for our company dinners."

At 10:00 pm, the news went viral on social media with the caption reading, "The grilled fish restaurant at Millennium Square loses power, but the boss picks up the tab and offers 200-dollar vouchers to customers."

There were over four thousand replies in the comment section.

"A businessman like him deserves to make it rich."

"Can I get the name of the restaurant? I'll head over there this weekend."

"The management of Millennium Square owes everyone an explanation."

"The barbecue restaurant right next door still had power. Only the grilled fish restaurant was pitch black. It's pretty obvious who's being targeted."

A few food content creators sent me a private message, offering to make a post about my restaurant for free.

It probably never occurred to Walt that cutting off my power would give me the most publicity I'd ever received in the six years I'd been running the restaurant.

But I didn't care about that.

At 11:00 pm that night, the renovation crew arrived at the basement of Avant Plaza.

On the dot at midnight, the truck from the moving company pulled into Millennium Square's loading bay.

Zeke Anderson, the security guard on duty, had known me for six years, too. He stuck his head out of the booth and checked the license plate number before looking at me. Then, without a word, he lifted the barrier.

Everything from the custom grills, the freezer unit, and the proprietary machines I created was all packed up. I didn't leave a single thing behind.

The entire kitchen team showed up as well. All 12 of them assembled, not a single one taking the day off or asking why we were moving in the middle of the night.

It was 4:00 am when the final box was loaded onto the truck.

The entire kitchen was empty. Once the stoves were removed, a stain from six years ago could be seen on the floor tiles. Sauce and oil had seeped into the cracks between the tiles. No amount of cleaning could remove the marks.

It'd been left there on the first day the restaurant opened, when Lionel spilled the first batch of sauce we were making.

I took out the check for this month's rent from my wallet—the full amount and not a cent more. I placed it inside the drawer built into the front counter, leaving a note on top of it.

"I don't need you to turn the air conditioning back on anymore, Mr. Sutton."

The truck from the moving company drove off, and the rest of us followed in our cars behind. Through the rearview mirror, I saw the logo for Millennium Square gradually getting smaller.

Grabbing my phone, I sent Walt one final message.

"I'm not signing the lease."

Then I blocked him.

At 6:00 am, down in the basement level of Avant Plaza, I stood inside the empty storefront. The signboard hadn't even been put up yet, but the lights were already on.

My staff sat on the floor, digging into some sandwiches. Eric enthused over how the kitchen in the new place was twice as big as the old one.

Lionel was off in the corner, envisioning where to put the freezer unit and the grills. He also gestured toward the ceiling to map out the path for the ventilation ducts.

I walked toward the entrance of the store that faced the subway station. The first train of the morning rush hour had just arrived. People poured out from the station exit and walked up the escalator.

The first thing they would see was my restaurant.

At that moment, my phone lit up. I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. I answered it, but no one spoke. After a few sighs, I heard someone say, "Mr. Connor—"

I dropped the call and blocked the number.

In another two hours, Walt would be opening the door to Unit 402 on the fourth floor, only to find that it had been stripped bare.