Chapter 114: Million Dollar Lawsuit

I didn’t even flinch. Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out my checkbook and a custom titanium pen, smoothly signing off on the entire amount right then and there.

"Is that all?" I asked, tearing the check from the pad and slapping it directly into his chest. "One point08 million? Honestly, I’ve spent more than that on lunch. Keep the change."

His smug, arrogant grin completely froze. His eyes dilated in total, unadulterated shock as he stared down at the signed check in his hands, then up at his lawyers, who looked equally stunned. Neither of them had expected a seven-figure lawsuit to be settled like a pocket-change transaction on a random Tuesday morning.

Patricia let out a soft, amused chuckle beside me, crossing her arms as she watched the color drain from his face.

For a second, the man was completely speechless, his throat working as he tried to process what just happened. But his bloated ego quickly kicked back in. He swallowed hard, forcing a loud, defensive laugh to cover up his embarrassment.

"Y-You think tossing money around makes you a restaurateur?!" he stammered, his voice rising as he tried to regain his footing in front of his staff. "So what?! You paid off your debts! That doesn’t mean you know how to run a kitchen! This strip belongs to me! You can build whatever fancy little showroom you want next door, but when we open our doors, I’ll bankrupt Patricia’s reputation in a week! You’re playing in the major leagues now, kid!"

I just smiled, taking Patricia by the arm and guiding her back toward the supercar.

"Keep holding onto that delusion," I said over my shoulder, the roaring V12 engine drowning out his desperate yelling as we pulled away. "Because when Phase Three drops... you won’t even have a business left to brag about."

I eased the supercar onto the open coastal highway, the low rumble of the engine setting a relaxing backdrop to the drive.

"So," I said, glancing over at her with a grin, "now that we’re officially building your dream kitchen... who’s the gold standard for you? Who’s your ultimate chef idol?"

Patricia’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, hands down? Olden Mante."

The name rang an immediate bell in my head. I’d never actually sat down to watch any of his stuff, but you couldn’t exist in the modern world without seeing his face pop up somewhere.

"Olden Mante..." I murmured, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. "Yeah, I know the name. He’s got that massive hit TV show, right?"

"Massive is an understatement!" Patricia laughed, sitting up in her seat, completely in her element. "He’s an absolute legend. The way he balances ruthless, pinpoint precision with raw, creative flavor pairing is insane. His show Culinary Warfare is basically required viewing for anyone who takes cooking seriously. He doesn’t just judge food—he dissects the soul of the dish. I’ve watched every single episode of his masterclass series at least three times."

She leaned back against the headrest with a soft, dreamlike sigh, looking out at the ocean horizon.

"Honestly, if a chef like Olden Mante ever tasted my food and gave it his seal of approval... I think I could die happy."

A slow, calculating smile began to form on my face as I listened to her. A legendary, world-renowned celebrity chef with a hit TV show and elite taste?

Interesting, I thought to myself, my mind already spinning the next play. Bringing in someone of that caliber to judge her culinary training—or better yet, to show up on our grand opening night—would absolutely pulverize her ex-boss into complete obscurity.

"Well," I said smoothly, stepping on the gas as the supercar surged forward, "then we better make sure your training gets you straight to his level."

An idea instantly struck me, and I turned to her with a confident grin.

"If he’s the absolute best, then why settle for just watching his shows?" I said smoothly. "What if I get Olden Mante himself to personally coach and train you before we launch Phase Three?"

Patricia’s jaw practically dropped. She stared at me in complete disbelief, her eyes wide as saucepans.

"Get... Olden Mante to coach me?!" she gasped, clutching her seatbelt. "Ethan, are you serious?! He’s literally the most sought-after celebrity chef in the world! He doesn’t just take on students or do private lessons!"

"Money opens every door," I replied, tapping the steering wheel casually. "And if it takes a massive check to get a culinary icon in your corner, then that’s exactly what I’m spending."

She let out a breathless, giddy laugh, the sheer excitement completely taking over. "Oh my god... that would be absolute magic! If I could learn under him even for a few days, we wouldn’t just beat my ex-boss—we’d set a standard nobody in this region could ever touch!"

She quickly reached into her bag, pulling out her phone to tap through her saved bookmarks.

"Wait, I heard he’s currently doing a guest stint at his flagship establishment—Heaven’s Kitchen!" she said eagerly, looking up at me with bright, hopeful eyes. "We should go there right now! Word is he cooks at the main line in person during peak dining hours!"

"Then Heaven’s Kitchen it is," I said, stepping hard on the accelerator. The supercar let out a deep, aggressive roar as we sped toward the grand venue, ready to track down the legendary chef and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

We pulled up to the entrance, and the atmosphere hit us before we even stepped through the doors.

The entire venue was built around a pristine, ethereal white-heaven motif. Smooth alabaster stone, soft flowing water features, and subtle warm lighting created a space that felt completely detached from the noise of the outside world. It wasn’t just clean; it felt pure, almost weightless.

Even the staff moved with a calm, effortless grace, dressed in sharp, tailored white uniforms that looked like something straight out of a high-end luxury campaign. Every greeting was warm, every gesture deliberate.

Patricia stood frozen in the foyer for a second, her eyes wide as she took in the subtle architectural details, the flawless acoustics, and the immaculate layout of the dining room.

"Ethan..." she whispered, looking around in genuine shock. "This atmosphere is incredible. It literally feels like stepping into another world."

"They definitely nailed the theme," I said, looking around as a host stepped forward with a welcoming smile to lead us to a private table near the open-concept kitchen.

Through the seamless glass, we could see the line in full operation—dozens of chefs moving in total, synchronized harmony. And right in the center of it all, commanding the line with razor-sharp intensity, stood Olden Mante.