Chapter 3 - THE TRUTH IN THE RECORDS
The accounting clerk's name was Elena.
She was a quiet woman with silver-framed glasses and a stack of documents pressed against her chest.
When Ethan asked what she meant, she looked toward the office door.
"Several temporary workers have asked about missing payments."
"How many?"
"At least four that I know of."
"Did you report it?"
"I sent the questions to Gregory. He said the workers were hired through private arrangements."
Ethan's face darkened.
"And you accepted that?"
"He was the manager."
"Not the owner."
Elena lowered her eyes.
I understood her fear.
It was the same fear that had kept me cleaning floors after midnight.
The fear of losing the only income you had.
Ethan turned to me.
"Norah, did Gregory give you a contract?"
"No."
"A receipt?"
"No."
"Any paperwork?"
"Just his messages."
He nodded.
Then he asked Elena to compare the messages with the restaurant's closing schedules.
She opened the folder.
I watched her finger move down the page.
"These dates match," she said.
She checked another sheet.
"And these."
Gregory had been the closing manager on every night I worked.
The kitchen's cleaning checklist showed completed tasks.
The freezer had been signed off.
The grease traps had been inspected.
My work was there.
Only my name was missing.
Ethan looked at Elena.
"Was outside cleaning labor authorized?"
"Yes. Gregory had permission to hire temporary help during the kitchen maintenance period."
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"Then why wasn't she entered into payroll?"
"I don't know."
"Find out."
Elena left.
For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine going home with the money.
Three hundred dollars.
It wasn't a fortune.
It wouldn't fix my car or erase my overdue bills.
But it would buy formula.
It would cover the most urgent part of rent.
It would give Sam and me a little breathing room.
I looked at the clock.
Six forty-eight.
My chest tightened again.
"Mr. Hayes, I really have to leave."
He looked at me.
"You're right."
I was so surprised that I didn't speak.
He picked up his phone.
"Have the car brought around."
I shook my head.
"I can take the bus."
"Not after collapsing."
"I don't need a car."
"You need to get to your son."
There was no argument I could make against that.
He took a small envelope from the desk drawer and counted three hundred dollars into it.
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I stared.
"What are you doing?"
"Paying what you're owed."
"But Gregory—"
"Gregory's problem is with me now."
He placed the envelope in front of me.
I didn't touch it.
"Is this charity?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"Payment for work completed in my restaurant."
I looked at the money.
Three hundred dollars.
The exact amount.
No grand gesture.
No impossible promise.
Just what I had earned.
And somehow that made it harder to accept.
I had spent so long begging people to do the right thing that I no longer knew how to react when someone simply did it.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Ethan nodded.
"There's something else."
My stomach tightened.
He pushed a second paper toward me.
It was a receipt acknowledging payment of the outstanding wages.
"Read it before you sign," he said.
I looked up.
"Most people tell me to sign first."
"Then most people are asking too much."
I read every line.
There was nothing about withdrawing a complaint.
Nothing about admitting fault.
Nothing that said I couldn't speak about what happened.
Just the amount owed, the dates worked, and confirmation that I'd received payment.
I signed.
Ethan handed me a copy.
"Keep that."
I folded it carefully and slipped it into my wallet.
Then the door opened.
Gregory stood outside.
He had apparently heard enough to know things were going badly.
"Mr. Hayes, you're making a serious mistake."
Ethan turned.
"Am I?"
"That woman is manipulating you."
I felt the familiar heat of humiliation.
But this time, I didn't look down.
"I worked for you," I said.
Gregory sneered.
"And you were terrible at it."
"Then why did you keep asking me to stay late?"
He hesitated.
I took a step forward.
"Why did you tell me the freezer was spotless?"
"Norah—"
"Why did you promise to pay me Friday?"
"Enough."
"No."
My voice surprised even me.
I had never spoken to him like that.
"You knew I had a baby."
Gregory looked toward Ethan.
"You don't understand—"
"You knew I needed that money for formula."
"That's not my responsibility."
The room went quiet.
He was right about one thing.
Sam wasn't his responsibility.
But the money he'd promised me was.
I looked him directly in the eyes.
"You didn't have to care about my son."
My voice trembled.
"You just had to pay his mother."
Gregory said nothing.
Ethan's expression became cold.
"You're relieved of management duties effective immediately," he told Gregory. "Accounting will review the records, and you'll cooperate."
Gregory stared.
"Over three hundred dollars?"
Ethan shook his head.
"Over what you did to someone who couldn't afford to fight you."
Gregory's face twisted.
"You can't seriously trust her over me."
Ethan glanced at the shift records.
"I don't have to choose whose story I like. I have evidence."
The bodyguard opened the door.
Gregory looked at me one final time.
There was no apology.
Only resentment.
Then he walked out.
I should have felt victorious.
Instead, I felt exhausted.
Because while Gregory was losing his job, my son was still waiting.
And I was almost an hour late.
Ethan picked up Sam's bottle and placed it carefully in my bag.
"Come on, Norah."
I followed him into the hallway.
For the first time since entering L'Osteria, I wasn't walking toward someone who could refuse me.
I was walking toward home.
But when we reached the restaurant's front entrance, Ethan stopped.
Outside, the rain was falling harder than before.
And standing beside a black car was a man holding a grocery bag.
Ethan looked at me.
"There's one more thing you need before you leave."
I stared at the bag.
May you like
Then at him.
And suddenly I was afraid of owing someone powerful more than I could ever repay.
