By the time Daniel Mercer saw his eight-year-old son carrying a silver tray for fourteen wealthy strangers, the boy’s hands were already blistered—and everyone at the table was still eating. Rain streaked the glass walls of Charles and Vivian Whitmore’s waterfront home outside Seattle while crystal shone beneath the chandelier. Ben moved from guest to guest in an oversized white shirt, his face pale, his arms shaking under the weight of the tray.
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