Aliana’s POV

I sat in my office, watching the security footage on my laptop, my fingers drumming against the wooden desk. The restaurant was alive with movement—servers weaving between tables, the low hum of conversations blending with the clinking of silverware against plates. Everything looked normal.

But I knew better.

I could feel it in my bones. Something was off.

For weeks now, things had been slipping through the cracks. Missing supplies, complaints about bad service, ...