The Copper Fig was dying. Marlene Voss, 60, stood at the helm—dyed blonde ponytail, smart casual resolve, no apron, no illusions. Once a proud bistro with a loyal crowd, it now limped through service, plagued by poor hygiene and staff turnover. She’d resisted change for years. Now, she’d hired an executive chef to take full control of the kitchen. The front was hers; the back, no longer. Survival demanded surrender.
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