The dining room of *L’Étoile* was a mausoleum.

It was 8:00 PM on a Saturday night—traditionally the most lucrative, chaotic hour of the week. But tonight, only three of the twenty tables were occupied. The ambient music sounded unnaturally loud in the empty space, and the waitstaff stood awkwardly

Julian was still sitting in the dark of his office, his head resting on the desk, when his phone buzzed violently against the wood.

He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the room from spinning. The scotch was sitting heavy and sour in his stomach. He didn't want to look

The email arrived at 4:00 PM, precisely two hours before dinner service was supposed to begin.

Julian Thorne sat in the suffocating silence of his dark office, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. His eyes were bloodshot, the harsh blue light illuminating the tear tracks dried on his cheek