The whole crew rallies around me—Sarah, our bartender, steps up, arms crossed. “We don’t need your attitude here,” she says.
Heather, trying to regain control, snaps, “We’ll just talk to the manager.”
I finally step forward, wiping my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder. “You already have,” I say calmly.
Heather blinks. “What?”
“I’m the manager,” I reply, holding her gaze. “Actually, I own the place.”
For the first time, Heather is speechless. The smugness drains from her face as the realization sinks in. My staff cheers, Jack claps me on the back, and Maria lets out a victorious whoop.
Heather stammers, trying to recover. “I… I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I smile, but there’s steel in my voice. “Heather, maybe think before you speak next time.”
With nothing left to say, she and her friends gather their things and hurry out. The doorbell jingles as they leave, the air lighter, the weight gone.
Jack grins, throwing an arm around me. “Now that’s instant karma.”
I laugh, pride swelling. Years ago, I’d have given anything to escape people like Heather. Now, I’m standing tall, in a place that’s mine, surrounded by people who respect me.
“Karma,” I say, smiling, “served with a side of justice.”