Chapter 1You Traded Gourmet Food For Poison

For over a year, I’d been hooking my coworkers up with gourmet lunch boxes from my father’s high-end restaurant, The Miramar. It was a premium two-protein, two-side combo that normally retailed for eighteen dollars. I charged them only ten.

Everyone was thrilled with the arrangement. Until Garrett, our new intern, arrived and looked at my lunch program as if he’d uncovered a heinous crime.

"Ten bucks for a two-and-two combo? Are you kidding me? That’s highway robbery," Garrett announced to the open office, his voice dripping with righteous indignation. "I can get this made for five. If you're pocketing five bucks a pop, and you do a hundred boxes a day, that’s five hundred dollars. My god, that’s a hundred and eighty thousand a year. You’re literally buying a new car off our backs. This is insane!"

Chelsea tried to defend me. "Actually, Garrett, it’s a pretty great deal. Anything decent outside costs at least eighteen. Tyler is basically charging us cost price."

"Plus, The Miramar is a massive chain," another coworker added. "It’s impossible to get a reservation there, let alone takeout. They literally set up a custom lunch line just for our office. It’s not even open to the public."

Garrett scoffed, shaking his head as if we were all incredibly naive.

"Cost price is ten dollars? Are you kidding? Pork is dirt cheap right now. Even if you packed the box full, it wouldn’t cost ten bucks. And that 'exclusive, not-for-takeout' line? It’s a total marketing gimmick. My uncle runs a restaurant. I know exactly how this industry works." He leaned against a cubicle wall, crossing his arms. "If you guys trust me, I can get you the exact same setup—pure cost, two proteins, two sides—for five bucks."

He looked around, holding his hands up in mock humility. "I’m just trying to help out. I don’t want a single penny. I just can’t stand watching someone treat their own colleagues like cash cows."

One by one, hands started shooting up around the room.

For the first time in a year, I felt a wave of pure relief wash over me.

This thankless chore—one that was costing my family a hundred thousand dollars a year in losses—was finally someone else's problem.

* * *

Today’s lunch had just arrived.

It was our signature two-protein, two-side lunch box. Today's main was slow-braised short ribs—five thick pieces of tender, marbled meat—alongside a whole, herb-roasted chicken quarter.

For the sides, there was an organic tomato-paste pasta and a sesame-marinated chicken salad. It came with a side of house-pickled relish and a bottle of fresh-pressed seasonal fruit juice.

This was the exclusive lunch program my father’s culinary team prepared daily for my office.

For a year, the standard had never dropped. It normally retailed for eighteen dollars, but I charged my colleagues only ten.

"Tyler, these short ribs are unbelievable. Is your chef Michelin-starred?"

"The chicken is huge, I can barely finish it. The flavor is incredible."

"The tomato are so refreshing. The dressing is perfect."

"I live for this fruit juice. You can actually taste the real fruit pulp. You can't buy this anywhere."

These were the compliments I heard every single day. But today, Garrett shattered the peace.

"What? You pay ten bucks for this? You guys are getting ripped off. The actual cost is five dollars max!"

He pointed a finger at me, looking like a savior of the working class. "Tyler, man, we're coworkers. Taking advantage of us like this is just dirty."

My fork paused mid-air above my bowl of plain pasta.

Five dollars?

The organic tomatoes and chicken alone cost more than that. Was he planning to serve them synthetic meat?

Chelsea spoke up. "It’s not expensive, Garrett. A lunch like this would easily be eighteen to twenty dollars anywhere else, and the quality wouldn’t touch this. Honestly, I can’t even finish mine."

"The Miramar is a top-tier national chain," another colleague chimed in. "It’s clean, it’s reliable, and we know we’re eating high-quality food."

Garrett smirked. "Reliable? Those ribs are clearly cheap, frozen imports. Probably sitting in a commercial freezer for six months. That’s how you get food poisoning."

"And the chicken? Classic 45-day factory-farmed birds pumped full of hormones. Eat enough of that and your endocrine system is toast. My uncle’s in the business, I see this stuff all the time. Restaurant margins are insane because they use garbage."

He lowered his voice, looking around conspiratorially. "I’m not trying to stir the pot, but if the food is really so great, how come Tyler doesn’t eat it? The kitchen makes him a completely separate meal. Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?"

The room went dead silent.

People stopped chewing. The delicious lunches suddenly looked like toxic waste.

Courtney gagged slightly, pushing her plate away. She glared at me. "Tyler, do you want to explain this?"

"We get that you want to make a buck, but you shouldn't be feeding us dangerous, low-grade food just to line your pockets."

The murmurs of agreement rippled through the office like wildfire.

"Seriously, if you wanted to make a profit, just tell us. Charge us fifteen or eighteen. But don't lie about it being 'at cost' while feeding us garbage that could make us sick."

"Tyler, is your conscience really okay with this?"

I stared at them, speechless. What profit?

My family’s brand had been built over decades on a strict "never frozen" policy. We didn't even use standard commercial meats. The short ribs were locally sourced, organic beef, and the chickens were free-range, organic-certified.

The ten dollars I charged didn't even cover the raw ingredients.

Labor, utilities, packaging, and delivery were entirely absorbed by my father’s flagship kitchen.

My dad had run the numbers last month. We were losing nearly a hundred thousand dollars a year on this little favor—essentially the cost of a brand-new luxury car, gone, just so my coworkers could eat well.

Garrett covered his mouth, feigning regret. "Oh man, my bad. I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to ruin your side hustle."

"It’s just... I grew up in this business. I used to do the books for my uncle's diner. A lunch box like this costs five dollars to make, max. If you guys want to save some cash, I can talk to him. He'll do it for five dollars, completely at cost."

Courtney’s eyes lit up. "Garrett, seriously? Five bucks for two meats and two sides?"

"Of course. We're a team here. Why would I lie to you? Think of the money you'll save for coffee or drinks."

The excitement in the room was palpable.

"Count me in! Put me down for the whole month."

"Me too! I’m in."

They crowded around Garrett’s desk, clamoring to sign up. Courtney walked past my cubicle, giving me a smug, tight-lipped smile.

"Tyler, you see how it is. No one wants to pay your bloated prices anymore. You should probably refund everyone’s pre-payments."

Without saying a word, I pulled up my Venmo and transferred every single dollar of their remaining lunch balances back to them.

Then, I called my dad.

"Dad, shut down the office lunch service. We don't need to deliver here anymore."

On the other end of the line, I heard my dad let out a massive sigh of relief. "Thank God. We can finally stop hemorrhaging money."