Chapter 9 · free to read
A hundred kitchens do not cook. They reheat. Everything a customer in this country will taste next spring passes through one concrete room in Gyeonggi, and nobody had ever let a chef walk through it before.
Fourteen product lines. Eleven of them lied on the outer box, and the inner pouch told the truth to anyone who opened it. Nobody had ever opened it.
I did not change a single supplier. I signed off every one of them, in my own hand, as menu director. A signature on a fraud is worth more than a photograph of it.
Two hundred and six franchisees. Every one of them tied to the commissary by a clause that made leaving cost more than closing.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.