A Departure and a Return

As a child, my dad, Kane Hot, told me the story of how the family business began. My great-grandfather, Dan Hot, founded the first Steamin Hot restaurant when he first got married to my great grandmother, Ellen. The two served the community hot and fresh meals every day and provided a space for enjoyment through troubling times. After several successful years, they made enough to build a larger restaurant in Oakville, where my dad learned from his father. My dad was seasoned and carried me by his side when I was born. I couldn't help but learn a thing or two, which made me a phenomenal cook and a cleaner. All the customers asked for their food to be prepared by me, the little sous-chef who was small but bright. But one day, things changed. I was 18 years old when the restaurant area turned into a dangerous place. Our customers avoided coming in as random men and women walked the streets, wreaking havoc on all businesses. They shattered windows, burned objects, and spray painted the storefronts. It damaged us when we found out that our other restaurants got burned to the ground and when my sister, Kate, got involved with a boy who turned out to be a member of the crew. He robbed us of 150,000K during a break in one night while the restaurant was closed. This was the ultimate turning point of not only my family's life but mine as well. I had to move because I was going to earn my business degree at college so I could open my own restaurant away from the chaos. Dad was angered by my departure as I promised him I would never leave the family business. We got into a heated argument the day I left. I remember his words like yesterday.

Dad yelled, "I can't believe you're going to leave us. This is our only business now, and we need all the help we can, or we'll lose everything!"

"Look, Dad," I stared directly at him, "I refuse to continue on here. Things are getting tense, and pretty soon, we'll be dead if we don't leave. Im going while I still can!"

He bellowed, "If you walk out of that door, you are no longer a chef!"

I did so while tossing my chef's uniform on the table. I made it out to the parking lot, looking back to see my dad slam his hand in rage as my mom and 3 brothers and sisters surrounded him. I got in my car and drove off to begin my own journey. The four years of college threw me a load of unexpected obstacles. I had to pay for an apartment, my car, gas, and school. I had no money from the family restaurant because dad refused to give me any due to my departure. I often went hungry in class, hoping that someone would leave a portion of packaged food for me to devour. I hadn't talked to my family until my last college year when I got a phone call from my mom, who sounded miserable. 

She began," Hi, Konstad, how have you been?" 

"I've been fine," I lied, "How's everything at the restaurant since I left?"

She burst into tears, "I miss you, honey." 

"I do too," I whispered happily.

After this, the phone line went dead, as if she hung up the phone to refrain from wailing too hard.

 After two days, I broke my promise to myself and decided to drive by the family business. When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Dad sweeping and swabbing the foyer. As I came closer to the entrance, Dad approached and gave me an unexpected hug. We sat down in a booth where we took a moment to reconcile. 

Dad began, "I have missed you so much. Words can't express how sorry I am for what I said to you the day you left.

"I accept your apology, and I must apologize for being so mean in my departure," I remarked.

All of a sudden, a figure appeared through the main door, ceasing my curiosity at best. 

Dad greeted the figure, "Good Morning, Quest, how are you?"

At the name, I sunk deep into the chair with surprise. Quest was a tyrant of mine and to numerous peers in grade school. I neglected to tell my parents about him, no matter all the offensive things he did to me. With his blackened past, I wondered how he got the job here.

"Why is he here?" I locked eyes with my dad and whispered.

Dad conveyed, "We hired him the day after you left. He needed a job, and we desperately needed help. It was a great fit."

"Okay," I stated uneasily.

Dad moved on rather quickly from the reunion we'd had in search of something he had for me. He went running down the hall to the office, rummaging to find it. As time went by, dad slowly reappeared while Quest held a blade under his throat.

"Dad!" I screamed.

"Don't call for your dad, or ill cut his throat open," Quest said bluntly.

I pleaded, "Please don't hurt him, hurt me instead!"

Quest didn't listen to my cry but ushered the entire family into the restaurant office. Here, he had 9 chairs set up for us in a circle. Four were for my brothers and me, the other three for my three sisters, and the other two for my mom and dad. He bound us up with rope from rice sacks and taped our mouths shut with masking tape. He pranced around the office, telling us that it would be our last day's if dad kept refusing to reveal where a chef's collector's knife was. I was puzzled as to what the collector's knife met to him when a deep secret was revealed. Quest drew a chair from the office desk and sat down.

"During the restaurant rioting, your father threw my parents in jail by ratting them out to the police. I had to get a job to support myself, and it just so happened that your dad was hiring. I took the position and saw the opportunity to exact my revenge on him.

"Wanda and Jeremy Maguire are your parents?" dad asked.

Quest drew his chair closer to dad, "That's correct, and thanks to you, they're facing 10 years and are currently in jail awaiting a court date."

Dad cried, "I had no idea that those two were your parents. I'm sorry that they're in jail away from you, but they were a threat to the community. I couldn't bear all the destruction they were doing to the restaurants."

Pow! Quest went upside Dad's face with a stapler, knocking him to the side.

"No!" mom yelled.

"Shut up, woman, and let me continue on," Quest demanded."

 He proceeded, "I need that collector's knife to bail out my parents before the court date. Tell me where it is right this instant!"

"I'd be damned if I hand over that collector's knife. It is a gift for my son," Dad grunted. 

 As dad refused to let up, Quest got angrier and grabbed a pack of Fire Flame matches from the kitchen. 

He struck one and called out, "This is the last time im asking, give up the damn collector's knife!"

Dad gave him an evil look and broke loose from the rope, plunging on top of his chest. The two rumbled around on the floor, careless of what the outcome met. As we watched in distress, the lit match dwindled away from Quest's hand onto the nearby drapery, prompting us to free ourselves before it was too late. By the time we broke loose, Dad and Quest were only a few inches from the fire, advancing to push one another in. During the exchange, a silvery, shiny object glinted through the smoke, grabbing Quest's attention. He forcefully shoved dad to the ground and made progress towards the collector's knife, swopping it up before our eyes. We rushed to dad, pulling him away from the flame, running outside from debris, only to see an influx of policemen, guns drawn with an intent to shoot. Quest challenged them but swiftly met his demise, ending the terror of that moment.