Chapter 2 - ELEVEN WEEKS
My mother pulled me behind her.
That was who she was.
Terrified.
Exhausted.
Hungry half the time.
And still trying to protect me from a room full of dangerous men.
“Please,” she said.
Her voice cracked.
“I don’t want trouble.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Mrs. Carter—”
“Miss.”
He paused.
“Miss Carter.”
She nodded.
“I just want what I’m owed.”
Sterling scoffed.
“Oh, come on, Claire.”
That was when Mom changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
Her shoulders straightened.
“Don’t.”
Sterling blinked.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say my name like we’re friends.”
The bartender looked down to hide a smile.
Sterling flushed.
Vincent motioned to one of his men.
A tall guy with silver at his temples stepped forward.
“Marco.”
“Yes.”
“Lock the front door.”
Sterling’s head snapped around.
“You can’t do that.”
Marco did it anyway.
Click.
Several customers looked nervous.
Vincent glanced around the dining room.
“Anyone who isn’t staff may leave through the side entrance.”
People moved fast.
In less than three minutes, the restaurant was nearly empty.
Only employees remained.
Sterling laughed once.
It sounded fake.
“This is insane.”
Vincent sat down again.
He placed the work log in front of him.
“Bring me payroll records.”
Sterling folded his arms.
“No.”
Vincent looked up.
Sterling’s face twitched.
“I mean, those are private business records.”
Vincent turned to Marco.
“Call Luis.”
Sterling’s color changed.
“No need for that.”
I didn’t know who Luis was.
Apparently Sterling did.
He walked toward the office.
Vincent nodded to two men.
“Go with him.”
Mom leaned down to me.
“You should not have done this.”
Her eyes were wet.
“Do you understand?”
I looked at her.
“You said people should ask for help.”
“That doesn’t mean Vincent Kane.”
“Why?”
She stared at me.
I pointed at him.
“He listened.”
Mom had no answer.
Vincent heard me.
He looked away.
Five minutes later, Sterling returned carrying two payroll binders and a laptop.
The binders were thin.
Too thin.
Vincent opened the first one.
“Where are the rest?”
“That’s everything.”
One of the cooks laughed.
Sterling whipped around.
“What?”
The cook crossed his arms.
“We clock in on tablets.”
Another employee spoke up.
“And we sign time sheets.”
Sterling’s jaw clenched.
Vincent looked at the laptop.
“Password.”
“No.”
Marco stepped closer.
Sterling typed it.
Vincent’s people began going through the files.
One of them was a younger man named Eli.
He wore glasses and barely looked like a criminal.
He looked like somebody who fixed printers.
He clicked through folders for three minutes.
Then he stopped.
“Boss.”
Vincent looked over.
Eli turned the laptop.
“There are two payroll systems.”
Sterling’s face went blank.
Mom whispered, “What?”
Eli kept scrolling.
“One for taxes.”
He clicked another window.
“And one for internal tracking.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“What’s the difference?”
Eli answered without looking up.
“The tax records say everybody got paid.”
The room erupted.
“What?”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I haven’t seen a check in six weeks!”
Sterling backed away.
Vincent lifted his hand.
The room settled.
Eli continued.
“The internal file lists unpaid balances.”
“How much?”
Eli looked at Vincent.
“Total?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Eighty-six thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars.”
Mom’s knees buckled.
A waitress caught her arm.
Vincent stared at Sterling.
“You stole eighty-six thousand dollars from your employees?”
Sterling snapped.
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“You reported wages you never paid.”
“It’s temporary.”
Vincent slowly stood.
Sterling backed up.
“This business has obligations.”
“So do people.”
“You don’t understand restaurant finance.”
Vincent actually laughed.
It was short.
Cold.
“I understand when a man spends money that belongs to somebody else.”
Sterling looked toward the door.
Locked.
Then toward the kitchen.
Blocked.
Then at me.
And something ugly passed across his face.
“This child has no idea what she started.”
Mom pulled me closer.
Vincent saw that too.
He stepped between Sterling and us.
“No.”
His voice went flat.
“She has no idea what you started.”
Then Eli spoke again.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
Eli had opened another folder.
His face had changed.
“What?”
“There’s more.”
Sterling lunged for the laptop.
Marco caught him before he made two steps.
And Eli stared at the screen.
“This wasn’t just unpaid payroll.”
He looked at my mother.
“Claire, did you ever sign a loan application?”
Mom went pale.
“No.”
May you like
Eli turned the screen around.
“Then somebody forged your name.”
