Ben sat on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, still in shock. His chest felt heavy, and he couldn’t stop hearing those awful words: "You’re doomed." They echoed in his head like a bad music.
He hadn’t even wiped his face properly when a young waiter stepped out of the restaurant and walked over to him.
"Excuse me, sir," the waiter said politely. "Are you Mr. Wilson?"
Ben raised his head slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He stood up sluggishly, wiped his face with the back of his hand, then nodded like someone who had just lost everything.
"Yes... I’m Ben Wilson."
The waiter offered a faint, sympathetic smile. “Please come inside. They’re waiting for you.”
Ben blinked. "Waiting for me?" His voice was hoarse. "Why?"
But the waiter didn’t answer that part. Instead, he
