Jordan Ellis stepped out of his black SUV on a crisp Monday morning looking nothing like the millionaire restaurant mogul the city knew. No tailored suit. No polished shoes. No luxury watch. Just worn-in jeans, a faded hoodie, and a knit cap pulled low enough to blend into the crowd.
Today, he didn’t want to be recognized.
Today, he needed the truth.
Jordan crossed the street toward the first diner he ever opened — the one where his mother once rolled pie dough in the back kitchen and hummed country tunes while he worked the grill. That diner was the heart of his entire empire. The foundation. The place that kept him grounded.
But for months now, emails had been trickling in with a pattern he couldn’t ignore: rudeness, carelessness, long waits, and customers walking out feeling embarrassed instead of welcomed. Something was slipping, and he needed to see it with his own eyes.
The moment he walked inside, he knew.
The red booths and checkered floor looked the same, but the atmosphere was colder. No smiles. No greetings. Just apathy.
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