Chapter 225: You Think You’re Worthy?
"I’m in the middle of talking! Which goddamn idiot has the nerve to talk back to me! Just you watch..."
Timothy Donovan ground his teeth and turned around. He was stunned to see the speaker was a young man in his early twenties. "You... Who are you? What gives you the right to talk?"
Arabella Donovan, on the other hand, recognized him at a glance. After all, she had just recently seen his photo—or to be more precise, a production still.
"Sam... Samuel Fulton?!"
Samuel Fulton? Caspian Rhodes furrowed his brow. It took him a moment to recall that this was the strikingly handsome... entertainer he had seen at his cousin’s company.
After blurting out his name, Arabella realized it was a bit rude. Then her eyes widened in surprise when she saw who was behind him.
"Mr. Fulton, and Cousin, what are you..."
Beatrice Donovan put away her notebook and said calmly, "I happened to have a case that required Mr. Foster’s cooperation, so I dropped by. You two know each other?"
"More than just acquainted. If it weren’t for Miss Donovan, I’d still be holed up somewhere, agonizing over my father’s medical bills."
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised, yet not entirely. "Is that so?"
"Hey, hey, hey, who the hell are you?" Timothy Donovan’s face turned livid as he saw Arabella ignoring the three of them to chat with the two newcomers. He looked ready to march over and start a fight at any moment.
"We’re talking to her. What gives you the right to talk?"
Samuel Fulton—or rather, Samuel Foster, as he should now be called—glanced at Timothy Donovan. He didn’t even need the manager to explain; he had already pieced together the whole story from the few scraps of conversation he’d overheard.
"I can’t speak on other matters, but when it comes to Delicacy Pavilion and Miss Donovan, I think I’m qualified to say something. After all you’ve said, sir, isn’t your real issue that Miss Donovan gets to be the privileged exception who can dine at our Delicacy Pavilion without waiting in line?"
"’Privileged exception’? She clearly bribed an insider to get in under false pretenses!"
"That’s right." Mr. Donovan glanced at the time. Estimating that the person they were meeting would arrive soon, he decided to wrap this up quickly.
He had never seen these two young people before and couldn’t figure out their background, so he didn’t dare let Timothy continue to run his mouth.
He took over the conversation, framing the issue decisively. "Delicacy Pavilion has been in business for over thirty years. Its rules have remained unchanged for decades, a fact everyone in Brynn knows. These rules are the very foundation of Delicacy Pavilion’s integrity, the bedrock of its success. I imagine that as long as the owner of Delicacy Pavilion is in their right mind, they wouldn’t let someone break these rules so easily. Wouldn’t you all agree?"
Mr. Donovan’s words were both a reminder and a threat. He had deliberately steered the conversation toward Arabella, the manager, and the waitress to pin the blame on them.
Regardless of whether Arabella’s status as a valued guest of Delicacy Pavilion was real, today it had to be twisted into a story of her colluding with the staff, using her family connections to muscle her way past the customers in line and enjoy special privileges.
Then, all it would take is firing one or two staff members to salvage the restaurant’s reputation.
Otherwise, once they blew the issue out of proportion, Delicacy Pavilion would face a crisis of reputation and widespread customer dissatisfaction, which would severely impact its business.
However, this Mr. Donovan had no idea that Arabella had become a valued guest of Delicacy Pavilion not through Dennis Donovan, but through her own merit.
He also never imagined that the favor Arabella had done for Delicacy Pavilion and the Foster family behind it was no small kindness, but an immense, life-altering debt of gratitude.
Thus, Samuel Foster completely ignored his insinuation.
"Delicacy Pavilion’s foundation is built on decades of honing our culinary skills, improving our dishes, and refining ancient recipes—taking their essence and perfecting them. The cornerstone of Delicacy Pavilion’s integrity lies in our rigorous selection of clean, safe, and wholesome ingredients, and in our commitment to our customers’ health and tastes. It has nothing to do with what you just said."
"Miss Donovan is a benefactor of our Foster family. As long as she wishes, she can take anything in this restaurant, free of charge. Reserving a private room for her convenience is the least we could do."
"Benefactor?" Having listened for a while, Victor Donovan finally dropped his pretense of being a respected elder and joined the verbal assault.
"What a joke. I’ve met Old Master Foster on several occasions, and I’ve never once heard that the Foster family had a benefactor. And even if they did, this wretched girl has only been in Brynn for a short time. How could she possibly have become their benefactor? At least try to make your lies believable."
After speaking, Victor Donovan even looked Samuel Foster up and down. "And who the hell are you? ’Our Foster family’? Funny, I don’t recall the Fosters ever having someone like you. What makes you think you’re fit to speak for Delicacy Pavilion? Go take a piss and look at your reflection!"
"He’s qualified because he is the one and only young master of our Foster family, the future heir to Delicacy Pavilion. You tell me if that gives him the right to speak for us."
The words were earth-shattering, striking the three Donovan men like a clap of thunder.
Caspian Rhodes was also stunned. He could in no way connect the shabby, silent young man from their first meeting with the Foster family, who were rumored to have military connections.
The only one who knew the truth, Arabella Donovan, was actually quite happy for the two Foster elders.
’Oho, looks like they’ve already done a paternity test. This handsome guy really is the Fosters’ long-lost grandson.’
Caspian’s eyes narrowed. ’So that’s what this was all about! This was the... "small favor" she mentioned she’d done for the Foster family?’
Samuel Foster was also taken aback for a moment, then turned with a resigned look toward the person who had just hurried over.
"Uncle, how many times have I told you? I’m not interested in cooking. You’re the one who single-handedly built up Delicacy Pavilion; it has nothing to do with me."
"Delicacy Pavilion was your father and mother’s life’s work. I was just looking after it for them. Now that you’re back, you still don’t want to take over."
"...Are you sure you want me to take over? With my cooking skills, I’d probably burn the whole restaurant down just by stepping into the kitchen."
Raphael Foster seemed to recall a certain someone’s recent "feat" in the kitchen. His expression stiffened for a second, but he persisted, "If you don’t know how, you can learn. Who’s born knowing how to do these things? It’s all learned, isn’t it?"
"...No, Uncle, trust me. The entertainment world is the vast sea I’m meant to conquer, not the culinary world. Please, Uncle, spare me. And spare yourself the trouble."
Raphael’s expression went flat. ’If this were my son, I’d have given him a good thrashing by now!’
"F... Foster, you..." Victor Donovan stared at Raphael Foster, who had appeared just in time. He could no longer deceive himself. "This... How is this possible? H-he’s your nephew, but..."
"But what? Is there any reason for me to lie to you? Samuel is my older brother and sister-in-law’s biological son—my own flesh-and-blood nephew."
"But Mr. and Mrs. Foster... didn’t they pass away long ago? And their child..."
"Also what?" Raphael Foster’s gaze was as sharp as a knife. "My nephew being alive and well is a blessing from heaven for the Foster family. Do you gentlemen have some sort of problem with my family? Does it bother you that much to see something good happen to us?"