Rich Lady Defends Barefoot Grandma from Being Kicked out of Posh Restaurant – Story of the Day

Bored of her rich date's endless bragging, Emily diverts her attention to the sight of a waiter turning away a barefoot grandmother begging for food. In defending the older woman, she uncovers a hit-and-run scandal that hits too close to home.

Emily shifted uncomfortably in her seat as her fingers traced the rim of her untouched champagne flute.

She was in Le Jardin, a posh restaurant in her city, and across from her, Nathaniel droned on about his latest yacht purchase, oblivious to her vacant stare.

"You should have seen their faces when I told them to keep the change," Nathaniel chuckled, popping a caviar-topped canapé into his mouth. "It's not every day they get a hundred-grand tip."

Emily forced a smile, but her eyes drifted to the ornate clock on the wall. Only twenty minutes had passed since this date started. It felt like an eternity.

"That's... generous," she managed to reply.

Nathaniel didn't notice her lack of enthusiasm. He simply launched into another story about his recent shopping spree in Milan while gesticulating wildly with his fork.

A commotion at the restaurant's entrance made Emily's attention wander. She noticed an elderly woman in a tattered dress hobbling through the door. She was completely barefoot.

Emily paid close attention and managed to drown out the sound of Nathaniel's voice enough to hear the waiter who had approached the old woman.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the waiter started, getting in front of the woman. "I'm afraid we have a strict dress code. You'll need to leave."

The old woman's weathered face crumpled. "Please," she begged. "I just need some fries for my grandson. He's sick, and it's all he'll eat. I have money."

She fumbled in her pocket, producing a handful of crumpled bills. The waiter's lip curled in disgust.

"I'm sorry, but we don't serve 'fries' here," he sneered. "Now, if you don't leave immediately, I'll be forced to call security."

Emily's chest tightened as she watched. She glanced at Nathaniel for a second, thinking he may have witnessed the same thing and wanted to do something.

But no. He was absorbed in his phone, scrolling through stock prices. Emily hadn't even noticed when he stopped talking and something inside her snapped.

She stood abruptly, making her chair fall back with a screeching noise. Nathaniel looked up, startled.

"Babe, what are you—"

"Don't call me that," Emily cut him off and strode towards the entrance.

"Wait," Emily called out to the waiter, who was now physically shooing the old woman towards the door. "She's with me."

The restaurant fell silent as other patrons' eyes fell on Emily, who was leading the old woman back to her table. She met their stares with her chin held high.

"Emily, what are you doing?" Nathaniel hissed, hurrying to her side. "You can't bring that... person to our table."

Emily turned and gave him a withering stare. "You're right, Nathaniel. I can't bring her to 'our' table, because there is no 'our' table anymore. We're done. You can leave now."

She faced the confused waiter. "I'd like a table for two, please. And bring me some fries for this woman immediately."

The waiter straightened and, with a nod, left to put in her order.

***

"I'm Emily," she introduced herself. "What's your name?"

Emily had guided the old woman to a corner table, away from the judgmental stares of the other diners.

"Martha," the woman replied as her eyes darted nervously around the opulent room. "I... I see I don't belong here. I just entered the first place I found."

"Nonsense," Emily dismissed, then shook her head and smiled. "You belong wherever you choose to be. I've already ordered the fries you wanted for your grandson. So, can you tell me what's going on while we wait?"

Martha hesitated for a second before her story spilled out in halting sentences. Her daughter was killed by a hit-and-run driver some time ago, and there was no police investigation into the matter.

Meanwhile, her grandson, Steven, was left in her care, but she struggled to make ends meet and they were eventually evicted from their apartment.

Now, she and Steven slept in a tent city on the outskirts of town.

Emily's heart tightened with each word that came out of the elderly woman's mouth. But her soul didn't just feel compassion. She felt guilt for everything she had been born and blessed with.

Emily came from old oil money, and her entire life had been marked by that privilege. Her circle of friends was extremely rich, and Nathaniel's family was even wealthier than hers.

That's why her mother had pushed for their date, but she hadn't felt a single inch of attraction for the pompous yacht boy.

When Martha finished, Emily reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"I want to help you," she said. "No one should have to go through what you've endured alone."

"You don't have to —" Martha began, but her words were interrupted.

A shadow had fallen across their table, and Emily was afraid it might be Nathaniel. But she looked up and saw an elegant woman in her fifties.

Her eyes were shining brightly with unshed tears.

"I couldn't help overhearing," the woman said. "My name is Olivia. Please, take my card. I have connections that might be able to help you find justice for your daughter."

Numbly, Martha accepted the card. "Thank you," she whispered. "Both of you."

Olivia nodded at them and walked away from the restaurant, dabbing her eyes with an expensive handkerchief.

Emily turned back to Martha and smiled. "Martha, would you mind if I visited you and Steven tomorrow? I'd like to see how I can help more directly."

"I don't know why you or that kind, beautiful woman care," Martha shook her head, flabbergasted. "Even that waiter treated me like trash."

The waiter in question brought over a to-go bag, presumably with the fries inside, and Emily thanked him. Then, she looked back at Martha.

"Not all of us look down on people," Emily said, pursing her lips in determination. "Let's go see your grandson."

***

Minutes later, Emily was making her way through a maze of tents and makeshift shelters. The smell of unwashed bodies and despair was terrible. It only made her feel more guilty for the life she'd led.

Martha pointed toward a battered blue tent, which was her home. Emily followed inside, and she saw a small boy on a thin mattress.

His face was flushed with fever. Martha told her she had nothing to help him.

Emily knelt close to the boy and spoke. "Hey, buddy. I heard you like fries."

Steven managed a weak smile. "They're my favorite."

"Try to eat a little bit so you can regain your strength," Martha added, and she started picking the fries and helping the boy eat.

As she witnessed the heart-breaking scene, Emily's resolve strengthened. She would do whatever it takes to help this family.

***

Emily sat across from Eric, Olivia's son and a rising star in personal injury law. She had just finished explaining everything about Martha's situation, particularly, the hit-and-run incident.

She knew that in any other case, that accident should've resulted in a big compensation that could give Martha and Steven a chance in this cruel world.

"It won't be easy," Eric warned, flipping through the sparse police report on Martha's daughter's death. "The accident happened over a year ago, and there's barely any evidence."

Emily leaned forward, her jaw set. "We have to try. Martha and Steven deserve justice."

Eric nodded and smiled for a second. "I admire your determination, and this is the kind of case that I love. Let's get to work."

***

Over the next few weeks, Eric called her with updates, and she tried to help too, but several things didn't add up. They both talked about finding a private investigator but had yet to hire someone.

One evening, as she was leaving a late dinner with Eric, a sleek black car pulled up beside her. The window rolled down and Nathaniel's father's stern face peeked out.

"Emily, dear," he said in a tone that Emily didn't like at all. "I hear you've been poking around in matters that don't concern you. For your own good, I suggest you stop."

Emily's blood ran cold, but she stood her ground. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrington, but I can't do that. Do you know something? An innocent woman lost her life, and her family deserves answers."

But Nathaniel's father didn't say a word. He rolled the window up, and then, his car sped away.

Emily's hands shook as she fumbled for her phone to call Eric. They had very few clues about the accident, but Mr. Harrington had just made a big mistake.

***

Eric burst into Emily's apartment one rainy afternoon, and his eyes were wild with excitement.

"We got him," he announced breathlessly. "The driver. It was Nathaniel's older brother, James."

Emily sank onto her couch, stunned. "Are you sure?"

"Ironclad evidence," Eric nodded grimly. "The Harringtons have been covering it up for over a year. This is also not an isolated incident."

Emily's mouth dropped.

***

Eric did a fantastic job. He got more evidence, media attention, and real court dates, which the Harringtons had avoided so far.

Meanwhile, the Harringtons told their circle, and Emily was cut off from all of them, even her mother. But she didn't care.

For years, Emily thought something was wrong with her. She'd been so unhappy even with everything she had, and it was because that world, the high society of this city, was meaningless and vapid... and not for her.

But the trial that followed was grueling. James' lawyers tried every trick in the book to discredit Martha and paint him as a victim of circumstance.

The truth prevailed in the end.

The Harringtons were forced to pay Martha and Steven a large amount of money, and James was sentenced to time in prison for his crimes.

***

Once the settlement money came, Emily helped Martha and Steven move into a cozy apartment and ensured they had everything they needed to start their new life.

But Emily's work wasn't done.

The experience had opened her eyes to the injustices faced by so many. With the help of Eric and Olivia, she established the Phoenix Foundation, dedicated to providing legal aid and support to underprivileged families.

And she never looked back.

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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided "as is," and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.