Revenge Is Best Served Hot

"Shut down for rectification, fined $500,000, plus $300 compensation per customer. That’s the penalty from the Food Safety Bureau. Let’s see if you dare serve us gutter oil again!”

Yves Larson, a part-timer at a construction site, sends me a provocative text purposefully, as though he's worried that I don't know what's going on.

I just stare at the sign that says "closed for renovation", which is hung on the front door of my eatery.

Never would I expect that the budget eatery that I've opened for the sake of the workers will be transformed into a blade that's aimed at me, thanks to the very same workers.

That night, I sit in the apartment that my dad has left to me before his death. There, I spend the whole night smoking.

Early the next morning, I head over to the bank and withdraw the money left behind by my dad, which is 260 million dollars.

Half a month later, my eatery is open for business again. Work resumes at the construction site as well.

Yves leads the construction workers to the restaurant at lunch.

"I've taught him a good lesson last time. This time, I'm very sure that he won't have the guts to serve us cheap food made of shitty ingredients!"

What he doesn't know is that the original eatery is already demolished. In its place stands a luxurious five-star restaurant.

I stand in front of the main entrance as I perform a welcoming gesture to the workers.

"This is a five-star restaurant that offers a private dining experience to you. The minimum bill for each table is 4000 dollars. You're welcome to dine here."

When the penalty notice from the Food Safety Bureau arrived, I was busy preparing lunch for the workers at the construction site.

"Upon inspection, The Hungry Pocket fails to meet the required fire safety and hygiene standards. The dishes served exceed the acceptable limits for sodium and oil. Therefore, the closure of the restaurant is required for rectification, and a fine of 500,000 dollars will be imposed, along with compensation of 300 dollars per customer."

When I saw the penalty notice, the spatula I was holding fell to the ground with a clang.

But what followed was a burst of cheers.

"Finally, that heartless businessman is getting what he deserves!"

"About time!"

"It serves him right! He's been ripping us off with overpriced food—and he's probably even cooking with gutter oil!"

"500 thousand dollars is too small a fine! Who knows how much he's made off of us over the years? It should've been a million dollars!"

These voices came from the workers from the nearby construction site, who were also regular customers of my eatery.

The loudest voice came from Yves Larson, a university student doing work on the site over the summer.

He was a freshman majoring in Food Safety at Camdia University.

At that moment, he was gleaming with joy and giving a short speech to the workers. "Food is everything, especially for workers like us! Food safety is essential. It's not something trivial we can ignore because it concerns our health!"

He continued, "If anyone tries to fool us with cheap ingredients that are loaded with sodium and oil, we have to report them to the Food Safety Bureau! We should use the law to protect our rights!"

The construction workers were all fired up, applauding Yves. "Yves, you're really something! You just sent a letter of complaint, and now we'll receive 300 dollars each!"

Yves proudly made his way over to me, flanked by the other workers. "Mr. Leeds, the notice from the Food Safety Bureau is here. Do you understand it? Do you need me to read it to you?"

I gritted my teeth and glared at him. Then, I forced the words through a clenched jaw. "No need!"

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Well, okay then. The guys won't be working this week anyway. Once your compensation comes through, we'll have a good time with that extra money!"

With that, he walked off with the others.

I stood there clutching the penalty notice, my teeth clenched so tight that I tasted blood.