MY HIGH SCHOOL BULLY POURED RED WINE ALL OVER ME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE—SHE HAD NO IDEA I OWNED THE RESTAURANT, OR THAT THE MILLIONAIRE SHE WAS DESPERATE TO IMPRESS WAS MY HUSBAND.

The photograph showed me from the chest down. No spilled glass. No Lauren smiling. Only a waitress with a red stain across her white shirt and a caption suggesting the Juniper Table employed staff who couldn't handle a simple wine service.

The post came from Lauren's account. She had tagged the restaurant, the local food pages, and Harborstone Hospitality. Comments were arriving faster than Becca could read them.

"That's clever," I said, surprising myself.

Jonah frowned. "Nothing about this is clever."

"She cropped out the person holding the glass."

Lauren put on a wounded expression. "I was telling my friends about a terrible experience. Isn't that allowed?"

"You're allowed to say what happened," I replied. "You're not allowed to rewrite it."

Anita stood. "We'll continue the vendor review through the normal process. Today isn't the place."

Lauren tried to follow her toward the door. "Anita, I can explain privately."

"Send any explanation in writing."

By late afternoon, three people had called to cancel tables. An employee asked whether his shifts were safe. Another wanted to know why a stranger was posting insults about his workplace.

I gathered the team near the kitchen pass. "We're keeping everybody's scheduled hours. If guests ask, send them to Becca or me. Nobody has to argue online to defend this place."

"But she's lying," our host, Ezra, said.

"I know. We have video. We also have dinner service in an hour."

That night, every guest who raised a phone made me tense.

At nine, Becca came to my office with a printed review from a new account: THIS OWNER BULLIES CUSTOMERS AND SILENCES STAFF.

"There's more," she said. "The post was shared in the group for Harborstone's contract review."