"Where would you like these tables placed?" a man says.

"Load them into the truck," I say. "Everything goes."

"Roger that."

I watch as every last piece of furniture, every utensil, every steel cooking tool is hauled out of the building. They're going to be auctioned off, and the money used to pay back my investors.

I watch as my dream is dismantled, piece-by-piece. The Pearl on Park … a one-time dream, is now a painful reminder of my failure.

But it's over, and I'm ready to close these doors for good. I'm ready to finally let this all go and put it behind me.

I walk outside and tape an announcement to the door. It reads:

"Closure notice: The Pearl on Park is now closing its doors until further notice. We apologize for the closure. The building will be under new ownership. We thank each and every one of you for your loyal support."

I stand back and look at the notice. I could've had someone else do it, but this restaurant was my dream. If someone has to bury it, it'll be me.

It seems like the right thing to do, anyways.

"You're finally admitting defeat," a voice says.

I swing my body to see who it is, and my pulse increases. It's the last person on earth who I wanted to see.

It's Percy Whitman.

"What do you want?" I ask.

It's an unseasonably cold day in New York, and he's wearing a black coat that sits in start contract to his pale skin. He has both hands shoved into his pockets and he's rocking on his heels. The wind lifts the edges of his thin, pale hair.

"I just had to see it for myself," he says, a smile parting his lips.

I can't help but ball one hand into a fist. Who the fuck does he think he is?

That arrogant bastard has the gall to come here and rub it all in my face?

It's taking everything in me to not put my fist through his face right now.

"See what?" I growl, taking a step closer. "Your handy work? It's unbelievable how quickly you moved. But I guess you had help, with Nicole and all. Did you two plan my restaurant's demise over cocktails? Or was it over lunch?"

He looks at me and there's a genuine surprise in his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says.

I laugh. "Oh come on—spare me the bullshit. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"It's true that I've never liked you," he says.

"You've made that loud and clear."

"And I think you're a cocky bastard, and am glad you aren't triumphant with this place," he says. "But Nicole had nothing to do with it."

"What?"

Wait, is he telling me the truth?

Have I misunderstood this situation? Is Nicole innocent?

"It's true," he says, his lips still cracked in a smile. "She had nothing to do with it. I was the one who never liked you. And I've been genuine in the fact that I've never appreciated your style of cooking. You call it high-end cuisine, but I've seen it done better elsewhere. You cook without heart. It's like I can taste your cockiness through the cuisine."

I'm trying not to roll my eyes. I'm in no mood to get a lecture from this food critic asshole. Here I am, standing on the street corner, taping a closure notice to my dreams, and Percy's feeding me a line of bullshit.

Percy continues, "Your restaurant closing is well deserved because you're an asshole for anting to steal Nicole's grandmother's recipe."

Those last words catch me off guard.

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"Oh don't play it off like you don't know what I'm talking about," Percy says. "Even Nicole knows. She saw it with her own eyes."

My heart leaps into my throat and my head spins.

The realization sinks in—so that's why Nicole has been acting so strange and is refusing to speak with me!

I've got to act fast. I can't waste another minute.

"Thanks, Percy," I say, patting him on the shoulder.

He looks confused, but shrugs it off and walks away.

I walk away from the restaurant and take out my cell phone. I have a few calls that I need to make.

Maybe I still have time. Maybe it isn't time for me to lock my restaurant doors just yet.