It was supposed to be just another high-stakes event — another wedding, another catering job. But what unfolded the day before this wedding turned into one of the most eye-opening experiences of my career.

I had recently stepped into the role of manager at a catering company that I had been working at for years. My boss, Tom, was going through chemotherapy, so I took over one of his biggest gigs — a wedding with 150 guests, featuring premium steak plates at $50 each. It was a big deal, and I was determined to prove I could keep things running smoothly.

Everything had been fine until 1 p.m. the day before the event, when I received a call from Camille, the bride-to-be. I knew this was trouble from the moment her name lit up on my phone.

“Hello, Camille. How can I help you?” I greeted, trying to keep my tone calm.

Her voice was tight. “We need to change the menu. Blake and I have been thinking… we want seafood instead of steak. Like, a nice salmon or sea bass or something.”

I glanced around the kitchen at the six staff members already prepping the steaks. “I’m sorry, Camille, but we’re prepping the steaks as we speak. The contract clearly stated no changes within a month of the event, and we’ve already purchased all the ingredients for this.”

Her response was an instant shriek. “Are you serious right now?” She spat the words at me. “It’s MY wedding! We’re paying you almost $8,000!”

“I understand, and we want to make your day special, but—”

“Do you understand English?” She snapped. “What part of ‘change the menu’ don’t you get? Are you illiterate?”

I pressed my fingers against my temple, trying to keep my cool. “Camille, I understand, but the contract you signed clearly states—”

“My fiancé is a lawyer!” she interrupted. “We’ll sue you into the ground if you don’t do what we want!”

The phone shuffled, and then a man’s voice — Blake, her fiancé — boomed through the receiver. “This is Blake. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Sarah, the catering manager,” I said, now steeling myself. “I was explaining to Camille that—”

“Listen carefully,” Blake cut in, his voice dripping with arrogance. “This is MY wedding, and I get what I want. Period. I don’t care what the contract says.”

I stayed calm. “Sir, I understand your frustration, but the steaks are already in preparation. If we change it now, we’ll be forced to purchase all new ingredients at a significant cost.”

“Then unprepare them!” Blake barked, his voice a mix of annoyance and entitlement. “How difficult is that to understand? We’re the clients!”

“Sir, the contract clearly states—”

“Forget it. You’re fired. We don’t want your services anymore.”

The words hit like a slap. “Sir, I must remind you of the cancellation clause. With less than 24 hours’ notice, you’re still responsible for 90 percent of the total amount.”

Blake’s laugh on the other end was cold and dismissive. “Good luck enforcing that. We’ll find someone else to do it, and we’ll make sure you pay for the difference.”

Before I could respond, the line went dead.

I stood there in the suddenly silent kitchen, the weight of the situation settling in. Six pairs of eyes were now on me. My staff waited for direction.

Miguel, my best line cook, finally broke the silence. “Do we stop prepping?”

I looked at the half-trimmed steaks, the sauces simmering on the stove, and the mountain of sides ready to go. I knew exactly what I had to do.

“No,” I said firmly. “Keep going. Finish everything as planned.”

“But they just fired us,” Leila, the newest member of the staff, protested.

“Trust me on this one.”

We worked through the night. By the time we were done, it was well past midnight, but I knew I had made the right choice. If Blake and Camille thought they could intimidate me, they were sorely mistaken.

That morning, at 7 a.m., my phone rang. It was Blake. I answered, my voice still rough from lack of sleep.

“Hello?” I said, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

“You better be at the venue with our food today, or we’ll sue you for breach of contract,” Blake said, his voice tight with panic.

I couldn’t help but smile inwardly. This was exactly what I’d been waiting for.

“Sir, you terminated our contract yesterday,” I said, my tone now sharp and confident. “As per Clause 9, we retain 90 percent of the total payment. If you want catering today, that’s a new contract at our same-day rate, which is three times the original. Payment upfront. Menu based on available inventory. And we reserve the right to refuse service.”

There was silence on the other end. I could almost hear him fuming.

“That’s extortion!” Blake sputtered.

“No, sir. That’s business. You can take it or leave it.”

The silence stretched on. Finally, Blake exhaled sharply. “Fine. But I want the menu changed to seafood.”

“The menu will remain steak, as that’s what we’ve already purchased and prepped for,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “Take it or leave it. Steak at $22,000, or nothing at all.”

After another long pause, Blake muttered, “Fine. Steak. But I expect it to be perfect.”

“It always is,” I replied, satisfied. “We’ll be there at noon, and I expect payment in full by then.”

We arrived at the venue exactly on time, and I saw Camille, pacing in the distance, her white dress a stark contrast against the chaos of the wedding preparations. But before unloading any food, I cornered Blake at the entrance. He was in his tuxedo, stress radiating off him.

“Before we proceed,” I said, holding up the new contract, “I need you to sign this and provide payment.”

Blake skimmed through it with narrowed eyes but signed it without a word.

Then I went to the van to help my team unload the food. As I returned, I was stopped by my assistant manager, Jen.

“Blake has been harassing the staff,” she said, worry in her voice. “He told Miguel that if anything went wrong, he’d have him deported.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Miguel had been born in San Diego.

I marched straight to Blake, who was standing with a group of groomsmen, laughing at the spectacle he had caused.

“Threaten my staff again, and we walk. Contract or no contract,” I said loudly, enough for everyone to hear. “Do I make myself clear?”

Blake looked at me with anger but nodded curtly.

The rest of the wedding went off without a hitch. The steaks were perfect, the service impeccable. Camille and Blake didn’t even look at me once during the event.

Three weeks later, Blake sued us for “predatory pricing” and “breach of contract,” but with the help of our lawyer, we quickly presented the evidence: the contract, the recorded phone calls, and proof of payment. The judge ruled in our favor, even ordering Blake to cover our legal fees.

As for Tom, he returned to work part-time six months later. When I told him the whole story, he laughed so hard he nearly cried.

“You made more off that one wedding than I would’ve made in three!” he wheezed, still chuckling. “Maybe I should get sick more often!”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned him with a grin.

And just last week, curiosity got the best of me, and I looked up Camille and Blake online. Divorced. Less than three years after that grand wedding.

Sometimes karma works exactly as it should.