Manager: Sir, your five minutes are up.
Mark: My brother... he couldn't transfer the funds right now.
Manager: Then I am calling the police.
Beatrice: No! Please! My son is a respectable businessman! He has an office downtown!
Manager: A respectable businessman pays for his steak, ma'am.
Just as the manager pulled out his radio, a sharp, elegant figure walked back into the entrance of the restaurant. Evelyn stepped through the glass doors, holding a small manila envelope in her hands.
Beatrice: Evelyn! Oh thank God! Tell this man to leave us alone!
Mark: Evelyn... please, baby. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you about the hot dog.
Evelyn didn't even look at Mark. She walked directly up to the manager, handing him a crisp hundred-dollar bill along with four hundred-dollar bills from her purse.
Evelyn: Here is five hundred dollars, Mr. Vance. Keep the change for the waiter's tip.
Manager: Thank you very much, Mrs. Montgomery. We appreciate your generosity.
Mark: See?! I told you she was just messing with us! Thanks, honey. Let's go home now.
Mark reached out to touch her waist, but Evelyn stepped back, her eyes cold as stone.
Evelyn: You're not coming home, Mark.
Mark: What? What are you talking about?
Evelyn: This envelope contains a notice of emergency eviction for the penthouse. The lease is in my name, and my legal team had your access codes revoked ten minutes ago.
Beatrice: You're throwing my son out of his own house?!
Evelyn: It's not his house, Beatrice. It was bought with my father's trust fund. Just like the car he drove here today.
Mark: My BMW?!
Evelyn: The valet has already handed the keys over to my driver. The car is on its way to my family's estate.
Mark: You can't just take my car! How am I supposed to get home?!
Evelyn: You can take the bus, Mark. Or maybe your mother can pay for a cab with her sixty-five dollars.
Beatrice: You ungrateful little witch! After all the family dinners I cooked for you!
Evelyn: Family dinners where you spent every second telling me I wasn't good enough for your son? Goodbye, Beatrice.
Evelyn turned around, her high heels clicking sharply against the polished floor as she walked toward the exit.
Mark: Evelyn! Wait! What about my job at your father's firm?!
Evelyn paused near the doorway, turning her head just enough to look back at him over her shoulder.
Evelyn: Your termination letter was emailed to HR twenty minutes ago. Security will pack your desk on Monday.
Mark stood frozen as the heavy glass doors closed behind her, leaving him standing in the middle of the dining room with nothing left to his name.