Satsuki gently pressed down on the raffia hat atop her head and stepped toward the main entrance of the restaurant. Frank pushed open the car door and followed without asking any questions about his superior's sudden decision to dine here.
When they pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the pure, fatty aroma of dry-aged beef searing over high-heat charcoal filled their nostrils.
The air carried the malty scent of aged whiskey and the mellow smoke of authentic cigars. The lighting inside was slightly dim, with dark solid wood wainscoting and leather booths creating a sense of old-school luxury.
It was peak dining hour, and the main hall was crowded with Wall Street traders and financial executives in dress shirts.
An elderly waiter in a neat white uniform and black apron came forward to greet them. He showed a flicker of nearly imperceptible astonishment when he saw Satsuki—this kind of old-school steakhouse, brimming with male hormones, rarely saw young Asian women in fresh, casual dresses. Nevertheless, he maintained a high level of professional poise and bowed slightly.
"Do you have a reservation for the two of you?"
Satsuki didn't answer. Her gaze drifted past the old waiter's shoulder toward the back of the hall. "We need that semi-open booth on the corner facing Forty-Ninth Street," she said in fluent American English.
The old waiter looked troubled. "I'm sorry, ma'am. That booth was reserved two weeks ago by several partners from Lehman Brothers. They are expected to arrive in about twenty minutes."
Frank stepped forward at the right moment. From the inner pocket of his suit, he produced a business card with the "S.A. Investment" header and his title of "CEO." Tucked beneath the card were two crisp hundred‑dollar bills. He extended his right hand, passing the card and the cash into the old waiter's palm in a smooth, discreet handshake.
"I think the Lehman folks might want a change of pace today," Frank said, smiling as he looked the old waiter in the eye. "Dining in the center of the hall would be quite nice as well. S.A. Investment needs that corner."
The waiter's fingers closed slightly, tucking the cash and card away. After seeing the institutional prefix on the card—one that had recently whipped up a multi‑billion dollar acquisition storm on Wall Street—his troubled expression vanished instantly. His back instinctively bent a few degrees lower as he put on a respectful smile once more. "You are quite right, sir. Please follow me."
The old waiter led them to the semi‑open booth at the corner of Forty‑Ninth Street on the first floor. Satsuki took a seat on the dark green vintage leather sofa.
The waiter bowed slightly and presented two heavy, leather‑bound menus with both hands. Satsuki accepted hers and gently opened the slightly textured leather cover.
Her eyes scanned slowly over the strictly laid‑out English names of the dishes. In an old‑school restaurant like this, even the dishes and the layout order were about the same as in her memory.
After confirming that this steakhouse still held fast to its classic signature dishes, she closed the menu and handed it back to the waiter. She looked up and placed her order calmly in fluent American English.
"One signature dry‑aged bone‑in ribeye, medium rare, with a side of creamed spinach and grilled asparagus. And a sparkling water with ice."
The waiter quickly noted it down, then looked toward Frank.
"A New York strip, medium, with mashed potatoes. Also a Macallan whiskey, neat."
"Certainly. Please wait a moment." The waiter bowed slightly, took the menus, and turned toward the kitchen.
He first brought out Frank's whiskey and Satsuki's sparkling water. Satsuki leaned back against the dark green leather sofa and looked at Frank with a playful glint in her eyes.
"Drinking single malt whiskey in the middle of the day," she said, gently swirling her sparkling water. Her tone carried a rare touch of relaxation.
"Frank, doesn't the S.A. Investment employee handbook have a rule prohibiting hard liquor during work hours?"
Frank adjusted his seating position and looked Satsuki straight in the eye.
"Boss, according to New York's routine, this is private lunch break time," he said with a straight face.
"Besides, this drink is a necessity to celebrate your smooth arrival in New York."
"You've certainly practiced your excuses well."
A mischievous smile appeared in Satsuki's eyes. She extended her index finger and tapped twice on the dark green leather armrest.
"It seems I'll have to ask Managing Director Endo to audit the New York branch's accounts properly. If I find out you're using company money to buy drinks, your entire bonus for the month will be docked."
Frank shrugged helplessly. "If you plan on docking my bonus, then I'll just have to eat two more New York strips during this lunch to compensate for my loss."
Satsuki let out a light laugh and took a sip of the cool sparkling water. The fatigue from the tense international flight dissipated significantly amidst these harmless jokes.
Beneath the soft glow of the brass wall lamps and the surrounding hum of conversation, the two waited comfortably for the charcoal‑grilled meal.
Twenty minutes later, the waiter returned carrying heavy plates. The massive, deep‑brown charred bone‑in ribeye, cooked medium rare, was placed on the white porcelain plate in front of Satsuki.
The intense aroma of fat, mixed with the nutty and cheesy scents of dry‑aging, instantly permeated the air. The surface of the steak was still sizzling, and the escaping juices pooled at the bottom of the plate in an inviting hue.
This is the taste, Satsuki thought excitedly as she picked up the heavy silver knife and fork. The blade sliced through the steak's crispy outer layer, revealing the tender ruby‑red meat inside.
The medium‑rare doneness was perfect, and rich juices flowed from the cut. She skillfully sliced off a piece and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly.
The succulent fat and rich meat flavor exploded on her tongue. She rested her cheek on one hand, blissfully enjoying the pure taste.
In the memories of her past life, she could always feast heartily on such high‑calorie, high‑protein portions. In the cutthroat environment of Wall Street, every meal was about consuming enough energy to handle the next business negotiation, and she used to finish every bit of this crude fuel.
She swallowed the first piece of beef, then picked up her sparkling water and took a sip to cleanse her palate. Applying pressure with her wrist, she cut a second piece and put it in her mouth.
But when less than half the steak on the porcelain plate remained, her eating slowed down because she was full. Over the past few years, this body had been carefully nurtured on refined Japanese cuisine and high‑end ingredients focused on nutritional balance.
Consequently, her digestive system quickly admitted defeat against this extremely rugged, heavy American grease and meat.
How shameful, she thought. Reluctantly, she set the silver knife and fork on the edge of the porcelain plate, then picked up the iced sparkling water and took a large gulp.
The cold liquid slid down her esophagus, washing away the lingering greasy feeling in her mouth and slightly suppressing the bloated discomfort in her stomach.
Her gaze fell on the bone‑in ribeye, more than half of which still remained on the plate. She tilted her head slightly, looking at the fat beginning to congeal as it cooled.
It must be that this restaurant started serving smaller portions later on, which is why the twenty‑first‑century version of me could finish the whole thing. What a bunch of swindlers. It's definitely not that my body is too small and simply can't digest this much food.
Satsuki picked up a white cotton napkin from the table and gently wiped the oil stains from the corners of her lips. She felt annoyed. Now the young lady was going to throw a tantrum.
"Frank," she said while wiping her fingers. "Go to the front desk and use the public phone."
Frank immediately set down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin.
"Tell the RTC liquidator that I need to adjust to the jet lag," Satsuki continued.
"For the next forty‑eight hours, I don't want to hear a single word about acquisitions. Let them stare at the clock on the wall in the conference room and do the math. During these extra forty‑eight hours, they can calculate how much more expensive interest they'll have to pay for those buildings they can't sell."
Frank stood up.
"Yes, I will notify them immediately." He turned and walked toward the restaurant's front desk.
A few minutes later, Frank returned to the booth. "The instructions have been delivered."
Satsuki stood up satisfied and picked up the raffia hat lying beside her. "Let's go to the hotel."
(Despite Frank not having finished his steak, they left.)
---
Resolution Trust Corporation liquidation conference room
The air conditioning in the room was cranked up high. The long conference table was piled with thick dossiers of non‑performing assets. Several liquidators sat around the table, their shirt collars open and ties loosened.
Click. Miller, the chief liquidator at the head of the table, placed the phone receiver back on its base with sluggish movements. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his weary eyes vigorously with both hands.
"What did they say?" a nearby colleague asked, looking up and stopping his pen‑spinning.
"Postponed," Miller replied, his voice laced with deep exhaustion.
"Frank said Miss Saionji needs ample time to adjust to the jet lag. The next negotiation time is to be determined."
The conference room fell silent for a few seconds. Facing a table full of cold coffee, Miller gave a cold snort.
"These Asian capitalists are even more arrogant than the Texas oil barons." He picked up a bill from the table and slid it across the surface.
"Go to the finance department and re‑audit the maintenance bills for those commercial buildings. Include the late interest for these forty‑eight hours. Tell the Budget Committee that the buyer has postponed the negotiation."
The colleagues looked at each other, let out tired sighs, and resignedly opened their dossiers again, clicking away on their calculators.