"Shut down for rectification, fined $500,000, plus $300 compensation per customer. That’s the penalty from the Food Safety Bureau. Let’s see if you dare serve us gutter oil again!”

Yves Larson, a part-timer at a construction site, sends me a provocative text purposefully, as though he's worried that I don't know what's going on.

I just stare at the sign that says "closed for renovation", which is hung on the front door of my eatery.

Never would I expect that the budget eatery that I've opened for the sake of the workers will be transformed into a blade that's aimed at me, thanks to the very same workers.

That night, I sit in the apartment that my dad has left to me before his death. There, I spend the whole night smoking.

Early the next morning, I head over to the bank and withdraw the money left behind by my dad, which is 260 million dollars.

Half a month later, my eatery is open for business again. Work resumes at the construction site as well.

Yves leads the construction workers to the restaurant at lunch.

"I've taught him a good lesson last time. This time, I'm very sure that he won't have the guts to serve us cheap food made of shitty ingredients!"

What he doesn't know is that the original eatery is already demolished. In its place stands a luxurious five-star restaurant.

I stand in front of the main entrance as I perform a welcoming gesture to the workers.

"This is a five-star restaurant that offers a private dining experience to you. The minimum bill for each table is 4000 dollars. You're welcome to dine here."

When the penalty notice from the Food Safety Bureau arrived, I was busy preparing lunch for the workers at the construction site.

"Upon inspection, The Hungry Pocket fails to meet the required fire safety and hygiene standards. The dishes served exceed the acceptable limits for sodium and oil. Therefore, the closure of the restaurant is required for rectification, and a fine of 500,000 dollars will be imposed, along with compensation of 300 dollars per customer."

When I saw the penalty notice, the spatula I was holding fell to the ground with a clang.

But what followed was a burst of cheers.

"Finally, that heartless businessman is getting what he deserves!"

"About time!"

"It serves him right! He's been ripping us off with overpriced food—and he's probably even cooking with gutter oil!"

"500 thousand dollars is too small a fine! Who knows how much he's made off of us over the years? It should've been a million dollars!"

These voices came from the workers from the nearby construction site, who were also regular customers of my eatery.

The loudest voice came from Yves Larson, a university student doing work on the site over the summer.

He was a freshman majoring in Food Safety at Camdia University.

At that moment, he was gleaming with joy and giving a short speech to the workers. "Food is everything, especially for workers like us! Food safety is essential. It's not something trivial we can ignore because it concerns our health!"

He continued, "If anyone tries to fool us with cheap ingredients that are loaded with sodium and oil, we have to report them to the Food Safety Bureau! We should use the law to protect our rights!"

The construction workers were all fired up, applauding Yves. "Yves, you're really something! You just sent a letter of complaint, and now we'll receive 300 dollars each!"

Yves proudly made his way over to me, flanked by the other workers. "Mr. Leeds, the notice from the Food Safety Bureau is here. Do you understand it? Do you need me to read it to you?"

I gritted my teeth and glared at him. Then, I forced the words through a clenched jaw. "No need!"

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Well, okay then. The guys won't be working this week anyway. Once your compensation comes through, we'll have a good time with that extra money!"

With that, he walked off with the others.

I stood there clutching the penalty notice, my teeth clenched so tight that I tasted blood.

My name was Zachary Leeds, the owner of The Hungry Pocket. My business was set up next to a construction site.

Three years ago, I quit my job at a big company and used up all my savings to open this budget restaurant right next to the city's largest construction site.

The specialty here was a ten-dollar meal deal, tailored for workers on site.

For just ten dollars, workers could enjoy a hearty plate of meatloaf or fried chicken, with unlimited sides of mashed potatoes, corn, and cornbread. In winter, we served free hot soup; in summer, we gave out free iced lemonade.

It wasn't gourmet food, but it was healthy, hearty, and affordable, which was exactly what blue-collar workers needed.

I priced it low just to cover the costs and keep the place running.

In fact, I never intended to make a big profit. After all, my father had spent his life working on construction sites.

Poor nutrition there gave him stomach cancer, and he passed away before turning 60. I didn't want other workers to suffer the same fate, so I used my savings to open this restaurant near the site.

I thought I was helping workers like my father.

That was, until Yves showed up.

In the second week of his summer job, Yves started stirring up trouble, claiming that the food had too much sodium and that the restaurant's hygiene was inadequate.

"Hey, guys! There's no one here to help out! The owner does everything by himself, including cooking, serving, and cashiering. How can the food be hygienic? I snuck into the kitchen, and the oil was black. He's obviously using cheap gutter oil!"

He continued, "Besides, why is the sodium content so high? It's because this heartless businessman wants to make more money. He's making his food so salty that we have no choice but to buy his overpriced drinks!"

Then he said, "He's taking advantage of you guys, thinking you're all too uneducated to know better. We need to make sure he faces the consequences!"

I would never forget the way he strutted over so smugly when he came to "negotiate" with me.

"Mr. Leeds, when you've done something wrong, you must face the music. Let me explain the Food Safety Law to you."

Under his initiative, a petition accusing my business of failing to meet food safety standards was created.

One of the signatures on the petition belonged to Steve Miles, a worker whose child I had once helped with medical bills.

Tanya Hertz, who had stayed in the restaurant's back room with her daughter, Carrie Hunt, for free for a year and a half because they had no money for rent, also eagerly signed the petition.

The kids' meals I had carefully prepared for all of the workers' children had now become the cause of her daughter's "severe stomachache".

To them, I was no longer a person trying to help but just a greedy businessman out to exploit them.

They turned the tables on me, and I didn't even have the chance to explain myself.

The fine of 500 thousand dollars, plus the 300-dollar compensation I was to pay to each customer, was enough to bankrupt me.

My small, humble restaurant, once the pride of my life, had become the very thing that pulled me into the depths of despair.

I stood in front of the restaurant, my eyes locked on the big closure sign on the door.

The potted plant by the entrance was a gift Steve had personally bought and placed there when we celebrated the restaurant's first anniversary.

It still had a good luck charm hanging from it, something he had gotten for me as a gift when he and his son climbed a mountain to seek good fortune.

Back then, he had a big, goofy smile on his face, full of gratitude for how I had helped his son.

But now, that charm flitting in the wind seemed to slap me in the face.

I ripped the good luck charm off the plant and lit it on fire before tossing it into the drain.

"Mr. Leeds, when are you going to pay us the 300 dollars in compensation?"

A familiar voice rang out from behind me.

I turned and saw Yves, flanked by a group of workers, walking toward me like he was the king of the world.

Steve shouted, "Yeah! How much money have you greedily made off of us over the years? Now, you can't even compensate us? What a dirty, rotten businessman you are!"

I looked at Steve, and a wave of mixed emotions flooded me.

"How dare you say I'm greedy! What about you? Remember when I paid 20 thousand dollars for your son's medical bills? Why didn't you call me greedy back then?"

Steve, getting even more worked up at the mention of his son, retorted, "My son was completely fine for 16 years! He ate at your restaurant for six months and got sick! It's your food that made him sick! Why did you pay for the medical bills if you weren't guilty? You were just feeling bad about it!"

I stared at him in shock, full of disbelief at the depths of his shamelessness.

"You!"

I felt my heart racing with anger as I clutched my chest while gasping for air.

But Steve, thinking that he had caught me in a lie, grinned even wider.

The other workers chimed in, "People care about health these days. We should be eating lighter, healthier food, yet you keep serving us dishes high in fat and sodium, like meatloaf and fried chicken. How can you say that you're not trying to mess with us?"

"If it weren't for Yves telling us, we wouldn't have realized you're making us buy extra drinks just to get more profit!"

"You're ruining our health for profit! What a disgrace!"

"The reason I put in extra oil and salt is that you work long hours on heavy physical labor, and more salt and oil give you more energy," I weakly tried to explain.

But they were now emotionally charged, so it just sounded like I was trying to defend myself after being caught.

"You even gave my daughter spoiled seafood that gave her a terrible stomachache!" Tanya screamed at me.

Carrie joined in angrily, "If it weren't for that stomachache, I wouldn't have missed school for days and failed my exams! You ruined my life!"

I yelled back, "That seafood was freshly caught by my friend and sent to me for my own consumption! I was cooking it for myself, but your daughter took it without asking!"

Tanya glared at me and sneered, "We don't care for your disgusting seafood! What's important is that you sold us unhygienic food! Pay up!"

Yves seized the moment and said, "Mr. Leeds, Ms. Hertz is right! I've seen you buying leftover rotten vegetables at the market. You know, the ones the farmers are going to throw away at the end of the day. Are our vegetables…"

He looked horrified as he said this, and the workers grew even angrier.

"Stop spreading rumors! Those were for the chickens and ducks I raise at home!"

When Tanya heard this, her eyes practically shot daggers at me. "You're a real scam artist! You have chicken and ducks at home, yet you're charging us ten dollars for a meal? Do you have no conscience for exploiting workers like us?"

With that, she threw rotten eggs and spoiled vegetables all over me in a fit of rage.