Chapter 3 - The Receipt That Didn't Match
The next morning, I woke to the sound of Ava coughing.
I sat up immediately.
"Sweetheart?"
She stood beside my bed holding her stuffed rabbit.
"I'm okay."
I pulled her close.
Her forehead was cool.
No fever.
Just the cough she'd had since the weather turned cold.
I made her oatmeal and checked my phone.
Twenty-three notifications.
Most were from former coworkers.
Sofia, our bartender, had sent six messages.
Frank says you stole money.
My stomach dropped.
Then:
He told everyone you took $1,800 from the register.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
He's filing a police report.
I almost dropped the phone.
Ava looked up.
"Mommy?"
I forced a smile.
"Eat your oatmeal."
She nodded.
I stepped into the hallway and called Sofia.
She answered immediately.
"Megan!"
"What happened?"
"Frank came in early."
"And?"
"He told Marcus you took money from the office."
"That's insane."
"I know."
"Does he have proof?"
"He says the security camera caught you."
I closed my eyes.
"The camera near the office?"
"Yes."
"That camera's been broken for two months."
Sofia went silent.
Then whispered:
"Exactly."
I leaned against the wall.
"Why is he doing this?"
"Because somebody's coming to audit the restaurant."
My heart started pounding.
"Who?"
"Corporate."
Julian.
Sofia continued.
"Frank's been shredding documents since seven."
I looked toward Ava's closed bedroom door.
"Don't touch anything, Sofia."
"I know."
"Promise me."
She sighed.
"Fine."
Then lowered her voice.
"But Megan?"
"What?"
"I kept copies."
I stopped breathing.
"Copies of what?"
"The receipts."
My heart pounded.
"How many?"
"Three months."
I closed my eyes.
"Jesus, Sofia."
"I thought you were right."
Then she whispered:
"And last night, before you got fired, I heard Frank on the phone."
"With who?"
"I don't know."
"What did he say?"
She hesitated.
"He said the old woman wasn't supposed to get out of the restaurant."
My stomach tightened.
"Old woman?"
"Yeah."
"Eleanor Vale?"
"I think so."
I stared at the wall.
Sofia continued.
"Frank sounded scared."
"Why?"
"He kept saying, 'Victor will handle it.'"
I froze.
Victor.
I recognized the name.
Victor Vale.
Julian's cousin.
Chief financial officer of Vale Hospitality.
A man who visited Harbor and Vine every month but never tipped the staff.
My phone vibrated.
Julian.
I ended the call with Sofia.
"Mr. Vale?"
"Good morning, Megan."
His voice sounded tired.
"Did you sleep?"
I almost laughed.
"Not much."
"Neither did I."
He paused.
"Frank Sullivan has made an allegation against you."
"I know."
"I've instructed the company to preserve records and refer the matter for independent review. No one should presume you're guilty."
I leaned against the wall.
"Thank you."
"Can you come to the corporate office?"
I looked toward Ava.
"Today?"
"If possible."
"I have my daughter."
A pause.
"Of course."
I expected him to offer a nanny.
A driver.
Some expensive solution that would make me feel like a charity case.
Instead, he said:
"When is convenient for you?"
I stared.
"No one ever asks me that."
Silence.
Then his voice softened.
"What time works?"
"After school drop-off."
"Ten?"
"Ten."
"All right."
At ten, I entered Vale Hospitality's headquarters.
The lobby was all marble, glass, and expensive silence.
My wet sneakers squeaked against the floor.
The receptionist looked at me.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm Megan Carter."
Her expression changed.
"Mr. Vale is expecting you."
She escorted me upstairs.
Julian's office overlooked Boston Harbor.
He stood beside the windows wearing a charcoal suit.
His hair looked as though he'd run his hands through it too many times.
"Miss Carter."
"Megan."
He nodded.
"Megan."
He gestured toward a chair.
"Please."
I sat.
A woman entered carrying a tablet.
Julian introduced her.
"Rebecca Shaw. Independent forensic accountant."
She smiled.
"Hello, Megan."
Julian continued.
"Rebecca has been reviewing Harbor and Vine's payment records."
I looked at her.
"What did you find?"
She opened her tablet.
"Discrepancies."
I laughed bitterly.
"That's a nice word for stealing."
Rebecca nodded.
"It may be. We're tracing the transactions before reaching final conclusions."
She showed me a receipt.
Table fourteen.
Two hundred and eighty dollars.
Tip:
Fifty-six dollars.
I remembered that table.
A family celebrating an anniversary.
The grandmother had complimented my service.
Rebecca showed me the corresponding payroll record.
Tip credited to Megan Carter:
Thirty-one dollars.
I stared.
"Twenty-five dollars missing."
"Yes."
She opened another.
Then another.
Then another.
By the end, I couldn't breathe.
Hundreds of dollars.
Then thousands.
Rebecca spoke gently.
"We've identified discrepancies affecting multiple employees."
I looked at Julian.
"How much?"
He answered quietly.
"More than seventy thousand dollars in the preliminary sample."
My mouth fell open.
I thought about Ava's shoes.
My rent.
The electricity.
Frank telling me I couldn't count.
"Seventy thousand?"
"At least," Rebecca said.
I began crying.
I hated that.
I wiped my face quickly.
Julian reached toward the tissue box and moved it closer.
He didn't touch me.
Didn't tell me to stop.
Just waited.
Then Rebecca continued.
"The tip discrepancies are only one part of the problem."
I looked up.
"What else?"
She displayed another report.
"Payments to a vendor called Eastbridge Hospitality Consulting."
I frowned.
"Never heard of them."
Julian's expression hardened.
"Neither had I."
Rebecca continued.
"The company received nearly four million dollars from Vale Hospitality subsidiaries over eighteen months."
I stared.
"For what?"
"Consulting services."
"Did they provide any?"
"We're examining that."
Julian looked toward the windows.
"Eastbridge is connected to my cousin."
I stopped breathing.
"Victor?"
He nodded.
"And possibly Frank Sullivan."
I stared at him.
Then remembered Sofia's words.
Victor will handle it.
I took a breath.
"There's something you need to know."
Julian turned.
"What?"
I told him about the phone call.
The old woman.
The warning.
His expression changed.
Then he stood.
"Rebecca, preserve everything."
She nodded.
I looked at him.
"What's happening?"
He turned toward me.
"My mother went to that restaurant because she received an anonymous complaint."
I stared.
"About the tips?"
"Yes."
"From who?"
He hesitated.
"She wouldn't tell me."
Then a knock came.
Julian's assistant entered.
Her face was pale.
"Mr. Vale."
"What?"
"Victor's attorney is here."
Julian frowned.
"Why?"
The assistant swallowed.
"He's requesting an emergency meeting of the family trust."
I looked between them.
Julian's expression went cold.
Then she added:
"He says your mother is no longer mentally competent to manage her shares."
The room became silent.
May you like
And suddenly I understood why Eleanor had been so frightened of going to the hospital.
Her own family was trying to use her medical condition against her.
