Frank had lowered his newspaper. The entire diner was wrapped silent, witnesses to a drama they didn’t understand. Mr. Davies nodded curtly, as if acknowledging a required pleasantry. Mr. Pendleton was a very specific man with very specific instructions. His final will and testament contains a provision that requires your immediate presence.
If you would be so kind as to gather your things, a car is waiting outside to take us to my office for the reading. Bella stared at him, bewildered. Bewill me. I think you have the wrong person. I just I just served him coffee. There is no mistake, Ms. Rosie Davies, said his voice firm, but not unkind. Mr. Pendleton was quite clear. Your name is Isabella Rossi.
You are a waitress at this establishment. And for the past year and a half, you have cut his toast into four equal squares every morning without fail and without ever being asked. The detail was so specific, so mundane that it stunned Bella into silence. He had noticed. Not only had he noticed, but he had told his lawyer about it.
“Sal,” she said, turning to her boss, who was looking pale and confused. “I don’t know what this is.” “Go,” Sal grunted, finding his voice. “Go on,” Brenda covered her tables. Brenda shot Bella a look of pure venomous envy, but didn’t dare argue. Numbly, Bella untied her apron, her hands shaking.
She placed it on the counter, grabbed her worn satchel from the breakroom, and walked back out into the diner. The four bodyguards and the lawyer formed a protective circle around her, creating a bizarre bubble of wealth and power in the humble diner as they escorted her out the door, leaving the entire Cleonel speechless. Bella felt a dizzying sense of unreality.
