He picked his city center location, the first one he had launched, where his mother once assisted with baking pies!

“I’m not calling customer service,” he said. “I’m asking a question. Is this how you treat everyone, or just the people you think don’t matter?”

The young cashier crossed her arms. “You’re exaggerating.”

Jordan pulled off his knit cap. The room shifted instantly. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Someone gasped. The cook froze with a spatula mid-air. Denise stumbled a step back as the realization hit her.

“I’m Jordan Ellis,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel. “I built this diner from nothing. My mother stood in that kitchen rolling pies with her hands aching. She always told me the same thing: anyone who walks through these doors deserves kindness. Whether they’re rich or broke. Whether they’re clean or covered in work dust. You’ve forgotten that.”

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