While I'm enjoying a promotional set that I've ordered from a restaurant, my best friend sends me screenshots she has taken from someone's social media feed.

"I just met a weird customer who's clearly impoverished but acts like she isn't. How can I make her realize that she has no right to be dining in such a fine establishment?"

The screenshot's descriptions grow even more familiar.

"One has to spend an average of two thousand dollars in this fine dining restaurant, and yet this broke loser has the nerve to order the cheapest promotional set instead! On top of that, she's shameless and pathetic enough to make me take a photo of her that makes her look very fancy!

"Seriously, I want nothing more than to post that ugly and unedited photo of hers on my social media feed and pin it there, just so I can humiliate her to no end!"

Someone in the comment section tells the floor captain of the restaurant to watch her behavior.

"She's a customer at the end of the day; your restaurant's reputation will suffer from a blemish if things get out of hand.

"You should know when to stop. After all, you're in the hospitality industry, so you shouldn't act too arrogantly."

The original poster has the guts to respond to that comment.

"I will never show respect to those who can't afford a 14-thousand-dollar meal! The fact that I have the balls to post the entire thing on my social media means I'm not scared of that peasant at all! What can she do to me anyway?"

The waitress' name was Colette Gill. The badge pinned to her chest read "Star Captain".

Right now, she was leaning against the serving hatch, her head down as she tapped away at her phone. From time to time, she would glance at me out of the corner of her eye.

I looked down at the clothes I wore. It was a basic Levi's T-shirt, jeans, and a ponytail I had casually thrown together. I certainly didn't look like the target demographic for this high-end restaurant, where the average bill ran two thousand dollars per person.

But I wasn't a wannabe socialite here to freeload on WiFi or split a bill. I was Nadine Roe, founder of Epicure Culinary Group.

Today, I showed up dressed down because the negative reviews for this flagship restaurant had been skyrocketing lately. I was especially alarmed by the flood of complaints about our service attitude and handling of promotional sets.

To understand what was going on, I had the operations team launch a "value solo experience set" online and booked it myself for an undercover visit.

I didn't expect to experience the "eye-roll service" mentioned in the reviews and end up as a joke on my employee's social media feed.

After posting her update, Colette seemed satisfied, as though she had vented enough. She sauntered over, holding a bottle of Evian, and slammed it onto my table with a heavy thud.

"Here's your water," she announced in a clipped tone and didn't even bother to look at me.

I frowned. "I remember the promotional set includes San Pellegrino sparkling water. It's supposed to be served in a glass with a slice of lemon."

Colette rolled her eyes like that was the funniest joke she had ever heard. "Take a closer look, miss. That service is meant for the original-priced 2,980-dollar set.

"We can barely cover the cost of a bottle of sparkling water for your 298-dollar experience set.

"Be glad you have something to drink, and stop all the fussy demands."

I pulled out my phone, tapped on the promotional set's detail page, and pointed at the listing.

"It clearly says that one serving of sparkling water is included. Are your menus just for show, or do you believe that customers using a promotion aren't entitled to what's promised?"

Colette impatiently waved her hand. "The operations team made a mistake when they wrote that. We go by what's actually served in-store. If you aren't happy, you can get a refund and leave right now. We're not that desperate for your business either."

With that, she turned to walk off, but I stopped her.

"Wait. If there's no water, what about the food? I've been sitting here for half an hour, so why hasn't the appetizer been served?"

Colette stopped and turned around to give me a once-over.

"The kitchen's busy, so we're obviously prioritizing our high-paying guests. The chef will get to your promotional set when he's free.

"You won't die from waiting a little longer. If you want something fast, take a left out the door—there's a KFC down the street."

I almost laughed in sheer anger.

Was this the "Star Service Team" I had spent a fortune training? Was this their idea of hospitality?

Now, it was clear that problems at this flagship restaurant ran deeper than I had imagined.

I didn't bother arguing with Colette. Instead, I picked up my phone and texted Stephanie Lloyd, who was rushing to the restaurant.

"Don't come in yet. Wait by the door. I want to see how far this goes."

Ten minutes later, my appetizer finally arrived.

It was a plate of black truffle scallops.

The edges of the scallops were shriveled and dry. It was obvious that they had been plated and left sitting at the serving hatch for ages.

The black truffle on top was pitifully scarce. It was just a tiny flake the size of a fingernail.

I picked up my fork and took a bite. It tasted fishy. This wasn't the fresh, air-freighted catch of the day. Rather, it was the taste of frozen scallops after being thawed.

To mask the fishy smell, the chef had drowned it in black pepper and butter, making it nauseatingly greasy.

I set my fork aside and dabbed my mouth with a napkin.

"Excuse me."

This time, it wasn't Colette who approached me, but a timid young woman still wearing a "Trainee" badge, named Claire Laurent.

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

"These scallops aren't fresh. Get your head chef out here."

Claire jolted and quickly apologized. "I'm so sorry! There might've been an issue with today's delivery. I'll have it replaced right away—"

"No replacing!"

Colette had come back at some point and shoved Claire aside. She stepped in front of me with her arms crossed and shot me a sideways glance.

"These are Pearlysian scallops that were delivered just this morning. How could they possibly not be fresh?

"It sounds like you're just too used to eating cheap grilled scallops at street stalls to appreciate high-end ingredients. If you're trying to pull a scam for a free meal, that little trick won't work here."

Guests at the surrounding tables turned to stare, murmuring and gesturing in our direction.

Colette noticed and raised her voice, making sure everyone could hear her. "Everyone, look! This lady paid 298 dollars for an experience set but expects a 20-thousand-dollar experience.

"This is a fine dining restaurant, not a soup kitchen.

"If you don't have the money, don't come here to play pretend. You can't afford it but still complain about everything. Have you no shame?"

Seated at the next table, a woman in flashy clothes scoffed. "Poor people these days are something else. They're always trying to force their way into places they can't even afford.

"I feel bad for the poor waitress having to deal with such a weirdo. If it were me, I would've long thrown her out. She's completely ruining my appetite."

I stayed seated and looked at the smug smile on Colette's face. She looked like she was enjoying the thrill of grinding my dignity beneath her feet.

"You're Ms. Gill, aren't you?"

I leaned back in my chair and calmly looked at her. "You said these are Pearlysian scallops, right? Pearlysian scallops have creamy-white flesh with fine grains and a naturally sweet finish.

"What's on this plate is yellowish, squishy, and tastes like the inside of a freezer. These are clearly domestic frozen scallops coming from old stock that has been sitting in cold storage for at least three months.

"Do you think I've never eaten good food, or do you just assume all promotional diners are easy to fool?"

Colette's expression shifted. She hadn't expected me to sound so professional, but it didn't take long for her to slip back into her arrogant tone.

"Quit reciting random facts you found online. You think memorizing a few lines makes you a food critic? I say they're Pearlysian imports, so they are. Go ahead and get them lab-tasted if you want to prove otherwise.

"Otherwise, shut up and eat your food. I'll have security throw you out if you keep making a scene!"

Just then, a young man in a limited-edition bespoke suit stepped into the restaurant. He radiated an overwhelmingly powerful air and had two assistants trailing behind him.

The moment Colette saw him, the expression on her face flipped like a switch. She could no longer be bothered to humiliate me and jogged over to welcome him.

"Oh my goodness, Mr. Julian Fairchild! What a surprise! You should've called ahead so I could save the best window seat for you!"

Julian took off his sunglasses and casually scanned the room. "I'm just here with some friends. Same table as usual."

Colette nodded vigorously and bowed her head so low that it nearly touched the floor. "Absolutely! It's available right now. This way, Mr. Fairchild. Watch your step."

She fawningly ushered him along, and as she passed my table, she bumped into my chair on purpose.

Once she had him settled, she poured every ounce of her energy into serving his table, pouring coffee, and constantly checking in. She looked like she was even ready to spoon-feed him.

In contrast, my table was completely forgotten. The rest of my dishes never showed up, and even Claire, the trainee from earlier, was too terrified to come near me.

I didn't mind either. Instead, I pulled out my phone, logged into the company's internal management system, and pulled up the procurement and inventory records for this restaurant over the last three months.

It was just as I had expected. There were zero purchases for Pearlysian scallops and an unusually high volume of frozen, domestic ones.

But it wasn't just the scallops. Black truffles, caviar, prime reserve Angus… None of the procurement records for the premium ingredients matched the accounting logs.

Instead, they were systematically substituted with subpar products or cheap imitation goods.

When I tapped on the financial statements and saw that the costs and expenses remained sky-high, that told me everything.

This was a classic case of internal collusion, with people inflating procurement prices, taking kickbacks, and pocketing the difference.

As the floor captain, the fact that Colette brazenly mistreated guests while defending these substandard dishes meant that she was more than just a waitress in this profit chain.

While I was going through the financial statements, Julian at the next table seemed dissatisfied with today's dishes too.

"What's going on with this steak? I ordered medium rare, but it was served well done. How am I supposed to eat this?"

Colette paled in fright and quickly apologized. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fairchild. The new chef must have misread the ticket. I'll have them redo it and bring you a fresh plate right away!"

As she turned around, still wearing her sycophantic smile, she caught me holding up my phone in her direction.

I was taking a photo of the untouched scallops on my plate as evidence, but to her, it looked like I was secretly snapping photos of Julian or recording her embarrassing blunder.

She stormed over and snatched my phone. "What do you think you're doing? Who gave you permission to take photos of guests? Don't you have any manners? Believe it or not, I'll call the police and have you arrested for violating other people's privacy!"

Having my phone snatched away was the last straw, and my blood boiled.

"Give me my phone back."

I stood up and looked straight at her.

"First, I was taking a photo of my table. Second, you're a waitress, not a police officer, so you don't have the right to seize my personal belongings.

"And third, if you don't put that phone down right now, the consequences will be more than you can bear."

Colette waved my phone and wore a smug, taunting expression.

"Oh! You're threatening me now, aren't you? I'd love to see what kind of consequences you think you can make me face."