Chapter 2 - THE PURPLE STARS
David Sterling did not bend to pick up his Porsche keys.
He stared at Vincent Kane instead.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was my mother.
She came running from the back office with her face white.
“Rory!”
I turned.
Mom crossed the restaurant so fast she nearly slipped on the polished floor.
She dropped to her knees and grabbed my shoulders.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I was helping.”
“Helping?”
Her voice cracked.
“I told you to stay in the office.”
“I know.”
I pointed toward the paper on Vincent’s table.
“I showed him the stars.”
Mom froze.
Then she saw who was holding her work log.
Every bit of color left her face.
“Oh God.”
Vincent remained standing.
Up close, he seemed even larger than he had from my table-height view.
Black suit.
Dark hair combed back.
A scar near his right eyebrow.
His hands looked like they had spent more years breaking things than holding paper.
But he was holding Mom’s work log carefully.
Like it mattered.
“Ms. Carter?” he asked.
Mom swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Are these hours accurate?”
She looked toward David.
That answered before she spoke.
David finally moved.
He bent, picked up his Porsche keys, and walked toward us with a smile that looked glued to his face.
“Mr. Kane.”
Vincent did not look at him.
David continued.
“This is embarrassing. Hannah and I have been resolving a payroll issue.”
Mom’s name was Hannah Carter.
Vincent looked down at the page.
“Seventy-seven days?”
David laughed softly.
“Not exactly. She’s received partial tips and meal credits.”
Mom’s head snapped toward him.
“Meal credits?”
David ignored her.
Vincent’s expression did not change.
“That wasn’t my question.”
David’s smile thinned.
“We had temporary cash-flow problems.”
Vincent glanced toward the keys in his hand.
“Porsche?”
David’s fingers closed around them.
“Personal financing.”
“Interesting.”
Mom stood.
“Mr. Kane, please.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I don’t want trouble,” she said.
David immediately relaxed.
That made me mad.
“She wants groceries,” I said.
Mom closed her eyes.
“Rory.”
Vincent looked at me.
Then at Mom.
“How many employees haven’t been paid?”
Mom hesitated.
David answered.
“Only Hannah has an unresolved discrepancy.”
Mom looked at him.
That was when I knew he was lying.
Because Mom made the face she made when our upstairs neighbor claimed his TV wasn’t too loud.
Vincent noticed too.
“Ms. Carter?”
Mom whispered, “Nine.”
David turned sharply.
“Hannah.”
“Nine employees,” Mom said louder.
The restaurant changed.
Servers stopped pretending not to listen.
A busboy near the kitchen stared at the floor.
An older woman carrying plates stopped moving.
Vincent asked, “How much total?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep records?”
“Only mine.”
David stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
One of Vincent’s guards moved.
Not threatening.
Just one step.
David stopped.
Vincent finally looked at him.
“You seem nervous.”
“I don’t appreciate being accused inside my own restaurant.”
Vincent glanced around.
“Your restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
David frowned.
Vincent sat again.
Then pointed to the empty chair across from him.
“Sit.”
David’s jaw tightened.
He sat.
Mom whispered, “I should take Rory and go.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You can.”
That surprised everyone.
David almost smiled.
Then Vincent continued.
“But if you leave because you choose to leave, fine. If you leave because you’re afraid he’ll punish you for speaking, that becomes a different conversation.”
Mom stared.
I squeezed her hand.
She stayed.
Vincent looked at David.
“Why haven’t you paid them?”
“Payroll account issue.”
“Which bank?”
David hesitated.
“First Metropolitan.”
“Branch?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where your payroll account is?”
“My accountant handles it.”
“Name.”
“Leon Graves.”
One of Vincent’s men quietly typed into a phone.
Vincent asked, “How much cash did this restaurant take last month?”
“That’s private.”
“Yes.”
“Then why ask?”
“To see whether you prefer lying quickly or slowly.”
David’s face reddened.
Vincent looked toward Mom.
“How often does payroll fail?”
“Since January.”
“Before that?”
“Sometimes a day late.”
“And eleven weeks now.”
“Yes.”
A server from the far wall spoke.
“Thirteen for me.”
David turned.
“Maria.”
The older woman put down her tray.
“You owe me thirteen weeks.”
Another employee stepped forward.
“Eight.”
Then another.
“Ten.”
A dishwasher appeared from the kitchen.
“Six.”
David stood.
“This is insubordination.”
Vincent remained seated.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“This is arithmetic.”
Nobody spoke.
One of Vincent’s men handed him a phone.
Vincent read the screen.
Then looked at David.
“Your accountant, Leon Graves, filed incorporation papers for a company called Sterling Hospitality Services three months ago.”
David’s face changed.
Vincent continued.
“Same address as this restaurant.”
David’s mouth opened.
“Separate management entity.”
“Owned by?”
Silence.
Vincent turned the phone.
“Your sister.”
Mom frowned.
David said, “That’s legal.”
“Maybe.”
Vincent tapped the screen.
“But your employees’ payroll taxes were deducted from checks they never received.”
Mom went still.
“So?”
The word came from the dishwasher.
Vincent looked toward him.
“So somebody reported wages as paid.”
Mom’s face drained.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent’s eyes stayed on David.
“It means the books may show money leaving payroll even though workers never received it.”
David laughed.
“That’s speculation.”
“Good.”
Vincent handed the phone back.
“Then you won’t mind an audit.”
David’s confidence vanished.
“You have no authority to audit me.”
Vincent looked toward the front windows.
“No.”
Then toward one of his men.
“But the state labor department does.”
David’s face changed completely.
Mom stared at Vincent.
“You’re calling the government?”
He looked almost offended.
“What did you expect?”
I raised my hand.
Everyone looked at me.
“A scary speech.”
The man beside Vincent coughed to hide a laugh.
Vincent looked at me.
“I already gave one.”
“It was okay.”
Mom covered her face.
For the first time, Vincent smiled slightly.
Then David said something that ended the moment.
“You think this woman is innocent?”
Everyone turned.
Mom went pale.
David smiled.
“Hannah knows exactly why she hasn’t been paid.”
Mom whispered, “What are you talking about?”
“You really want to do this?”
Vincent’s expression sharpened.
David stood.
“She stole from me.”
I looked at Mom.
She shook her head immediately.
“No.”
David continued.
“Cash missing from the office. Supplier refunds rerouted. Almost forty thousand dollars.”
“That’s a lie,” Mom said.
“Is it?”
He pulled out his phone.
Opened a photograph.
Bank transfers.
A name.
HANNAH CARTER.
Mom stared.
“I’ve never seen that account.”
David turned the screen toward Vincent.
“Maybe your little hero brought the wrong victim to your table.”
My stomach hurt.
Mom’s fingers started shaking.
Vincent studied the image.
Then looked at her.
“Is that your bank?”
“No.”
“Your address?”
Mom leaned closer.
Her face changed.
“It’s my old address.”
“Who had it?”
“Payroll.”
David smiled.
Vincent did not.
He looked at the date the account had been opened.
Then at Mom’s work log.
“Interesting.”
“What?” David snapped.
Vincent turned the paper around.
Purple stars marked dates.
The first suspicious transfer from the fake account occurred on one of them.
Mom had worked from 6:00 a.m. until 1:00 a.m. that day.
Six witnesses had signed the closing sheet.
Vincent tapped the line.
“She was here when the transfer was authorized from a device registered twelve miles away.”
David stopped smiling.
Mom stared.
Vincent looked at me.
“What do the stars mean again?”
“The nights we didn’t eat.”
His gaze went cold.
Then he looked at David.
May you like
“And apparently the nights somebody was busy stealing her name.”
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