Part 9

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"Nenek, it's me Khalid. I'm here to see you. Do you remember my father in these photos?"

"Khalid cucu nenek. You must do your homework first okay? After that nenek will take you to the playground." Khalid sighed and shook his foot aggressively.

My grandmother is the only person who would have told me the truth if she knew I am hurting. If only I knew about my father before nenek lost her cognitive abilities. Ibu Syirah and Mama Ros will have to pay. I will stop at nothing to avenge my father.

****

"Mama Ros, I heard your tender got shortlisted for a catering project with GFPH? I'm bored sitting around at home and sending out job applications. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You are such a sweetheart Khalid. What did I do to deserve a filial son like you? As a matter of fact, I do need help. You may liaise with our suppliers to make sure the ingredients get here on time. Here's the list with their names, contact, items ordered and date of arrival. We have to make sure that everything is in order before the site visit by the client. Now scatter away and get to work."

Khalid stood behind the counter and made calls to the suppliers. When he completed the calls, he held the receiver to his ears with his shoulder. He checked if any of the staff was facing in his direction. He opened the drawer, took the master key of the restaurant and pressed it onto a clay mould he took out of his pocket.

****

For two weeks Khalid assisted Rosnani in whatever she needed for presentation day. On the eve of the event, the restaurant was set. Printed menu designs were placed the same way on each table. Ingredients were all prepared for ease of access the following day. Tools and utensils checked twice to ensure there wasn't any missing inventory. Cooks and waiters briefed and trained to be professional. They were advised to provide the best customer service experience to the client. It is no wonder that Rosnani is a successful restaurateur. Her attention to detail is remarkable. She's an effective leader and communicator. She fosters inspiration contagion within her team.

Before they left for the night, Khalid fiddled with his phone. He disabled the security system of the restaurant on the click of an app that he developed.

The next morning, as always, Rosnani arrived at the restaurant before anyone else. When she lifted the restaurant's shutter, she fell to her knees. She scanned the environment in disbelief. The tables and chairs were toppled over, some of the legs broken. There was spray paint graffiti on the wall written: "you deserve this." Utensils and torn menu cards scattered all over.

Walking towards the kitchen, Rosnani met with the souring smell of rotting vegetables, seafood and poultry. All taken out of the freezer strewn over countertops and the floor. She placed her hand to her mouth and tears trickled down from her warm, kind eyes. She was neither crying for the restaurant nor the loss of the chance at the tender. She cried for the people who put in their sweat and toiled alongside her, especially Khalid.

She called the client representative to cancel the presentation then she dialled 999. While waiting for the police to arrive, she composed a text to her employees. A steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.

****

For My Convicted FatherWhere stories live. Discover now