Her Secret Sauce, Her New Life

Chapter 4

Charlotte's expression changed.

She clearly hadn't expected that after running the back kitchen for over a decade, I'd never cut corners on the paperwork.

The inspectors sealed the samples on the spot.

Two days later, the test results came back fully compliant; the allegations were unfounded.

When I got the food cart back, James had lined up over twenty taxis along the curb.

The drivers didn't offer comforting words; they simply lined up to buy wraps.

Someone caught it on video.

That night, #OriginaltheMartinez'sChefBackOnTheStreets shot to the top of the local trending charts.

At four the next morning, I pushed open the workshop door.

Outside, the line already stretched halfway down the street.

At the end of the line, Robert leaned against his car door, waiting, his face livid.

"Take down the stall immediately," Robert said.

Robert blocked the food cart and reached to pull the gas hose from the cooking equipment.

I pushed his hand away. "This is a licensed stall," I said.

"You're running a stall using your status as Mrs. Martinez of The Martinez's. You're making me lose face," he said.

"The divorce application has already been filed. I won't be your wife much longer," I said.

He stared at the words "The Lopez's" on my apron.

"Changing the name is useless. The dishes you cook and the sauces you simmer—you learned all of them at The Martinez's. If you keep operating, I'll sue you," he said.

James, standing in line, had heard enough.

"Mr. Martinez, when your first restaurant opened, you couldn't even slice potatoes evenly. Where do you get the nerve to say Ms. Lopez stole your techniques?" James said.

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

Robert's face flushed red. Suppressing his anger, he said to me, "I'll pay half the 890,000 dollars I owe you, right now. Resume deliveries today."

"No," I said.

"Emily, don't push your luck!" he said.

"I want every penny you owe me, plus you cancel the exclusive supply contract," I said.

Twelve years ago, when signing the exclusive agreement, Robert held my hand and said that as husband and wife, we were one; he'd never do me wrong.

But the contract drove my prices into the ground and stipulated that I couldn't sell core sauces to other restaurants.

Back then, I only thought about family; I didn't see who was really trapped by this agreement.

Robert gritted his teeth. "You know my eighteen shops can't survive without your sauce, and you're driving up prices now? How is that any different from kicking me when I'm down?" he said.

"Isn't Isabella good at running things? Let her handle it," I said.

At the mention of Isabella, his tone softened slightly.

"Isabella just took over, and she's still learning the ropes. Richard's still a growing boy, and she doesn't have the energy to stay up late figuring out the sauces. Why do you have to butt heads with her?" he said.

"My daughter just had open‑heart surgery, yet I still got up at three in the morning to knead dough," I said.

He fell silent.

Grace came out from the backyard, a workbook in her arms.

She saw Robert and stopped in her tracks.

"Dad," Grace said quietly.

Robert waved her over. "Come here. Come back to Grandma's house with Dad instead of suffering here with your mom," he said.

Grace hugged the book tighter.

"Grandma said I cost her eighty thousand dollars and called me a money pit," Grace said.

"She was just mad when she said that," Robert replied.

"But when Richard broke a bowl, Grandma didn't even scold him," Grace said.

Robert was somewhat impatient. "Richard doesn't have a heart condition. He acts out now and then; it's normal. You're not in good health, so you need to be more mature and not make things harder for the grown‑ups," he said.

Grace lowered her head and slowly retreated to my side.

I stepped in front of her. "You can leave now," I said.

"Emily, I'm her father!" Robert said.

"Then do you remember how old she is, what grade she's in, and when her birthday is?" I said.