Chapter 4: Betrayal at the Table

"Of course. I work in the catering business, and I know all the ins and outs. Not to brag, but just for our school, based on the current meal standards, costs could be cut by at least 50%." Doug Harper spoke with the easy confidence of a guy used to selling himself.

He was accusing me of making at least a 50% profit. He threw out numbers like he was reading off a menu. I saw parents’ eyes widen—half-price sounded too good to pass up.

Principal Williams stared into his cup, already doing the math in his head. More margin meant extra profit for the school. He wasn’t a fool.

"Mr. Callahan, do you think I’m right?" Doug Harper turned the spotlight on me.

"I can’t agree." I chuckled lightly. Costs aren’t just about ingredients. There’s overhead, equipment, labor. But Doug wasn’t interested in real numbers—he was selling a fantasy.

"As far as I know, Mr. Callahan came to Silver Hollow ten years ago and started out by contracting the school cafeteria. In these ten years, your business has only grown, and you’ve made more money than you can count. People say Mr. Callahan got his start from the cafeteria—over two million a month, nearly thirty million a year. Tsk, tsk." Doug’s voice dripped envy. Now it made sense—he wasn’t just complaining, he wanted the job.

It’s always the same—nobody likes the guy who makes good, not in a town like this. I could hear the parents’ whispers, doubt spreading like spilled coffee.

"Is the school cafeteria really that profitable? I never thought about it before. Anyway, we pay eight hundred a month, but that’s tens of millions a year—wow."

"Making money off students is the easiest. The school only has this one cafeteria. If you don’t eat, you go hungry."

"That’s true. It’s just home-style dishes. How high can the wholesale price be? The rest must be all profit."

Their voices blended together—whispers, judgment, suspicion. Years of work, whittled down to a single rumor and a stranger’s big numbers.

"Principal Williams, if the cafeteria’s profit margin is so high, shouldn’t the meal fees be reduced?" a parent asked directly. The question hung in the air, heavy as a gavel.

"This…" Williams stumbled, caught off guard, eyes flicking to me. "Mr. Callahan, as the cafeteria contractor, how much can you lower the price?"

He wanted a lifeline. I had none left to give. "Principal Williams, I can’t lower it." I shook my head with a bitter smile. You reach a point where you can’t give anymore.

"Mr. Callahan, we’re all acquaintances. It’s not right to always seek high profits from friends. If you make a little less, everyone will be happy, right? We’ve worked together for years. I’d like to keep working with you." Williams tapped the table, giving me a hint. Lower the price, or find someone else.

Ten years of loyalty, hanging by a thread. "Principal Williams, do you mean I must lower the price?" I asked, voice quiet but firm.

"Mr. Callahan, Mr. Harper has already spoken. Unless your price is lower than his, I can’t explain it to these parents, can I? After all, they’re the ones paying. Unless you can convince them."

He spread his hands, passing the buck to the crowd. Classic leadership under pressure.

"Mr. Callahan, the cafeteria belongs to the school. The decision is naturally Principal Williams’s. Why are you hesitating? Are you reluctant to give up the monthly profits squeezed from the students? Almost forgot, Mr. Callahan is a businessman. Of course businessmen put profit first and make money however they can. If I contract the school cafeteria, I’ll definitely put the students’ interests first." Doug Harper’s voice was full of smug confidence, as if he’d already won the contract. I clenched my jaw, feeling the weight of a decade’s work slipping through my fingers.

"If prices really can be lowered, that’s great. It would lighten our burden as parents."

"That’s right, let’s see how much it can be lowered."

Their excitement was palpable—a chance to save money, a new face at the helm. They couldn’t see past the dollar signs.

"All right, that’s enough. In that case, let Mr. Harper contract the cafeteria. From today on, I withdraw." I stood up, my keys cold in my hand. I looked at the faces around the table—some triumphant, some uncertain, none grateful. Let Harper have it, I thought, my hands cold around the keys. If they wanted a new hero, they could see what it cost.

I dropped the keys on the table, the metal clinking louder than I felt. Let’s see how long their new hero lasts.