“Mom, it is not our restaurant.”

Beatrice froze completely in the middle of the crowded room. “Stop joking around with me, Lucas.”

“I am not joking! I never put a single dollar into that business! The restaurant belongs entirely to Camilla!”

The surrounding women began exchanging uncomfortable, confused glances with one another. Beatrice gripped her phone tighter, her knuckles turning white.

“Lucas, explain to them right now that you are taking out loans to save this restaurant because it is going bankrupt!”

“Mom… that is a lie, too. The restaurant is not bankrupt, and it never was! I had massive personal debts, Mom! I needed money desperately, which is why I took funds directly from the commercial account!”

“How much money?” Beatrice demanded, her voice cracking.

I stepped forward and intervened directly into the call. “It was nearly forty thousand dollars in unauthorized transfers and personal expenses, all of which are documented.”

One of Beatrice’s closest friends stood up and asked loudly, “And what about that young girl you were boasting about earlier, Beatrice?”

“Yes, there was someone else,” Lucas confessed miserably over speakerphone. “Part of the money went toward luxury hotel rooms, expensive gifts, and trips.”

A loud murmur of shock rippled through the gathered crowd.

“You lied to me, Lucas,” Beatrice whispered in disbelief.

“I needed you to pressure Camilla into giving me control of the business!” he admitted.

Beatrice looked frantically toward the exit, but I stepped smoothly into her path. I calmly reached down and pulled back the receipt on the silver tray to reveal the certified copy of my official court ruling.

“As of this morning, the final decree was signed. Lucas and I are officially divorced, and we are no longer husband and wife.”

Beatrice blinked rapidly, staring at the seal on the document. “That… that cannot be real.”

“It is entirely real, Beatrice. Legally speaking, we are no longer related in any way. If you believe Lucas should cover this bill, you are welcome to work that out with him.”

When Beatrice realized that I was not going to back down, she began desperately begging me to write it off as advertising. I refused coldly. When several women attempted to leave without paying, we called the local police. Officers took formal statements and collected identification from every single person present.

Later that evening, Lucas arrived at my office in a panic. While my phone call with the investigating detective was quietly connected on speaker, Lucas confessed to sending over twenty thousand dollars of stolen corporate money directly to his mother for designer clothes, expensive trips, and lunches—and that Beatrice had known about his affair from the very beginning.

The police recorded the entire admission. To settle her massive debts and avoid severe legal prosecution for criminal fraud, Beatrice was forced to sell off her prized suburban townhouse. Predictably, every single one of those thirty-eight “friends” completely abandoned her.

Two months later, my attorney confirmed that all stolen funds had been officially recovered and every asset dispute was fully closed.

That evening, I personally cooked for a pair of loyal patrons. As I brought their check, the wife looked at me with a warm smile and noted how peaceful I looked.

I glanced toward the front entrance. For years, I had lived in constant fear of hearing Beatrice’s booming voice demanding free food, but that fear was completely gone. I had finally learned that standing up for what belongs to me does not make me a bad person. My restaurant was still standing, my team was still beside me, and I was finally free.