He remembered Ellie’s words. Words she used to repeat while stirring pots of greens in a tiny kitchen in Moultrie, Georgia, the smell of ham hocks and collards filling up every corner of that cramped little house.
You can’t plant a garden and forget to water it, baby. Don’t matter how good the seeds are.
He’d hired good people. But he’d left them unsupervised. Without guidance. Without accountability. Without him.
And maybe that was worse than being a bad boss.
Being invisible.
—
But before he made any decisions, he needed to hear more. See more.
That night, Darius sent out a group message to the full staff. Forty-seven numbers in the thread. He typed it himself, no manager, no assistant.
Team meeting tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. Attendance is required. No exceptions.
No explanation. No emojis. No “hope you’re having a great day.” Just enough to rattle them.
Then he booked a hotel just outside Marietta, away from his regular spots, and sat at a corner table with a notepad, scribbling down every detail he could remember. The way Marina’s gum snapped between her teeth. The way Kendall’s foot tapped when he lied. The way Reggie’s voice dropped an octave when he was defending something he believed in.
Tomorrow wasn’t about firing anybody. Not yet.
It was about something bigger.
Fixing the soul of the place.
But to do that, he had to face the people who were poisoning it and the ones trying to save it. And he had to do it without the hoodie.
—
The next morning came fast.
Darius barely slept. Not because of nerves, but because his mind wouldn’t shut off. Every moment from the day before replayed on a loop. Marina’s gum-smacking mockery. Kendall’s smug tone. Reggie trying to hold the line on a ship slowly drifting out to sea.
At 8:47 a.m., Darius sat outside the diner in a parked car again. This time, no hoodie. No disguise. Just a charcoal blazer over a clean button-down, jeans, and boots. His usual look when he dropped by before the pandemic changed everything. Before takeout orders and plexiglass barriers and a hundred little compromises that added up to one big disconnect.
From the car, he watched as each employee showed up one by one.
Marina—late by four minutes, phone in hand, barely glancing up from the screen, her uniform shirt untucked on one side.
Kendall—laughing to himself, probably at some meme, earbuds in, walking like he had all the time in the world.
