The waiter arrived with two perfectly seared Wagyu steaks, the aroma of truffle butter and aged oak filling the space between them. For a while, the intensity of the phone call seemed to fade, replaced by the clinking of silverware and the low hum of the city below.
Ethan took a sip of the vintage red wine, a bold Cabernet that stained the glass like velvet. Sarah watched him over the rim of her own glass, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.
"I have to admit, Ethan, your father had excellent taste in restaurants, but he lacked your... flair for the dramatic," said Sarah Miller.
"My father was a builder. I am a restorer. Sometimes, to restore something, you have to burn away the rot first," said Ethan.
