Then, as the crowd parted, a man flanked by a group of rough looking men and a woman strode forward with an air of authority.
"Who is in charge here?" the woman barked, her sharp voice cutting through the murmurs of the onlookers. "Get him out here! I must speak to him now!"
One of the servers stepped forward cautiously, his posture alert but controlled. "What's the problem?" he asked, his voice steady yet wary.
The woman's gaze snapped to him, filled with irritation. "Are you the one in charge?" she demanded, making no effort to soften her tone.
"No," the man responded coolly. "But I am the son of the one in charge." He stood his ground, his arms crossed over his chest.
"My father is old, and I won't allow you to trouble him with any of this. Tell me what you need." His words were firm, his tone carrying an unshakable confidence.