“You’re telling me my own mother-in-law booked my restaurant for her anniversary party and specifically requested that I not be informed?”
I gripped my phone so tightly I thought the screen might crack.
My assistant manager, Derek, paused on the other end of the line, clearly uncomfortable delivering this news.
“That’s correct, Mrs. Chen. She made the reservation under her maiden name and paid cash for the deposit.
She was very specific that no one contact you about the event.
I only found out because I recognized her voice when she called to finalize the menu yesterday.”
I stood frozen in my home office, staring at the framed photo on my desk.
It showed my husband Marcus and me on our 10th wedding anniversary, standing in front of what was then a small sandwich shop I had just purchased with my inheritance from my grandmother.
That was 12 years ago.
That tiny sandwich shop had grown into a culinary empire spanning six upscale restaurants, two catering companies, and a boutique event venue, all operating under my maiden name, Vivien Park Hospitality Group.
My in-laws had never bothered to learn exactly what I did for a living.
To them, I was just Marcus’ quiet wife who worked in food service.
They didn’t know that food service had made me a multi-millionaire.
“Derek, which location did she book?”
“The Grand Maple for this Saturday. Fifty guests, four-course dinner, open bar, the whole package.
She’s planning to announce something big.”
Apparently, the Grand Maple was my crown jewel.
A converted historic mansion in the heart of Portland that regularly hosted celebrities, politicians, and Fortune 500 executives.
The wait list for private events stretched eight months.
But somehow, my mother-in-law had secured a reservation for this weekend.
“How did she even get a booking? We’re completely full through October.”
Derek hesitated.
“She mentioned she was family of one of the owners.
Said her son’s wife worked here and could pull strings.
The new events coordinator didn’t know any better and assumed she had clearance.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
The irony was almost poetic.
My mother-in-law was using my name to book my own restaurant for a party I wasn’t invited to.
“Thank you for telling me, Derek. I’ll handle it from here.”
After hanging up, I sat in silence for a long moment, processing this betrayal.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
