Chapter 2 - “They Told Me I Had to Earn My Dinner”
“What do you mean, they made you work?”
Leo rubbed his palms against his jeans.
He looked embarrassed.
That broke something inside me.
Whatever happened when he was seven, my son had spent five years believing he should be ashamed of it.
“Leo,” I said. “Look at me.”
He slowly raised his eyes.
“You are not in trouble.”
Clara whispered my name.
I ignored her.
“What did they make you do?”
Leo looked at the photograph in my hand.
“Carry glasses.”
My stomach tightened.
“What glasses?”
“Champagne. Water. Sometimes plates.”
“For who?”
“The people at the party.”
I stared at him.
The Mercer Foundation dinner had hosted nearly two hundred guests.
Politicians.
Doctors.
Business executives.
Donors.
There had been a full catering crew.
“You were seven years old.”
“I know.”
“Who told you to carry drinks?”
Leo looked at Clara.
She flinched.
I turned on her.
“You?”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“That sounds pretty simple to me.”
“Adam—”
“Did you make my seven-year-old son serve drinks at a banquet?”
Clara’s face hardened.
“I kept him alive.”
The words hit the room like a gunshot.
Marcus stepped closer.
I stared at her.
“What did you just say?”
Clara immediately looked as if she regretted speaking.
Leo grabbed my sleeve.
“Dad.”
I lowered my voice.
“What does she mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara shook her head.
“You’re dragging him into something he doesn’t understand.”
“He’s already in it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He was seven years old and bleeding while carrying champagne glasses.”
I held up the photograph.
“This proves he was in it.”
Clara turned toward the doorway.
Marcus blocked her.
“I think you should stay.”
She glared at him.
“You work for this family.”
Marcus didn’t move.
“I work for Mr. Mercer.”
That was when I took out my phone.
“What are you doing?” Clara asked.
“Finding everyone who worked that banquet.”
“Adam, don’t.”
I called my attorney, Rachel Kim.
She answered on the third ring.
“Please tell me you aren’t calling about another contract.”
“I need records from the Mercer Foundation dinner on October seventeenth, five years ago.”
A pause.
“That’s specific.”
“I need the caterer, security company, photographer, staff roster, everything.”
“What happened?”
“I found something involving Leo.”
Her tone changed immediately.
“I’ll start now.”
Clara stepped toward me.
“You have no idea what you’re waking up.”
I ended the call.
“Then explain it.”
She didn’t.
Leo suddenly tugged my sleeve again.
“There was a man.”
Clara’s eyes snapped toward him.
I crouched.
“What man?”
“The one who kept watching me.”
“What did he look like?”
Leo squeezed his eyes shut as if forcing himself backward through five years of memory.
“Gray hair.”
My heart slowed.
A lot of men at that banquet had gray hair.
“Anything else?”
“He had a gold ring.”
Clara whispered, “Leo, stop.”
My son opened his eyes.
“And he told Aunt Clara not to let me talk to you.”
I stood.
Clara had gone white.
Then my phone rang.
Rachel.
That was fast.
I answered.
“What did you find?”
Her voice was tense.
“The catering company still exists. I spoke to the original manager.”
“And?”
“He remembers Leo.”
I gripped the phone tighter.
Rachel took a breath.
“He says your son worked almost four hours that night.”
May you like
Then she added something that made Clara grab the back of a chair.
“And he says somebody specifically ordered the staff not to help him.”
