Chapter 3 - THE AUDIT IN THE BASEMENTWhen I scurried back into the office, my mother was pale, her hands trembling as she clutched a stack of inventory invoices.
“Rory! Where on earth were you? I told you to stay put—” She stopped, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the open dining room door. Through the crack, she could see David Sterling slumped against the bar, weeping openly while Vincent Kane’s men methodically taped a CLOSED FOR FORENSIC INSPECTION sign to the front glass.
“Mom,” I said cheerfully, wiping a smudge of crayon off my cheek. “The man with the guards took Mr. Sterling’s car keys.”
Before my mother could process my words, a sharp knock echoed on the office door. It didn't open immediately; it was a rhythmic, heavy triple-knock that demanded obedience.
The door swung open, revealing Marcus, the scarred giant from Vincent’s table. In his massive hand, he held a sleek black envelope embossed with a gold seal, alongside a crisp, freshly printed cashier's check.
“Ms. Carter?” Marcus asked, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his terrifying appearance.
My mother instinctively stepped in front of me, shielding me with her body. “I—I haven’t stolen anything. I swear, I’ve logged every single hour. I just wanted what I earned—”
Marcus held up a hand, interrupting her panic, and extended the check. “Seventy-seven days. Paid in full. Plus three months of severance pay, executed immediately.”
My mother stared at the slip of paper. Her eyes darted from the staggering numbers—$18,430.30—to the terrifying giant standing in her doorway. “Wh—whose money is this? I can’t accept this. David will call the cops, he’ll say I extorted him—”
“David Sterling is currently in the walk-in freezer downstairs,” Marcus said casually, as if discussing the weather. “And he won’t be calling anyone for quite some time. Boss wants to see you both in the basement. There’s something behind the dry storage racks that the tax authorities should have found three years ago.”
Ten minutes later, my mother and I found ourselves descending the narrow, damp concrete stairs into the restaurant’s cavernous basement. The air smelled of old potatoes, damp earth, and something metallic—like fresh ink and heavy machinery.
Vincent Kane stood under a flickering fluorescent bulb, leaning against a massive walk-in safe built directly into the foundation of the building. David Sterling was cked against a stack of crates, his designer suit ruined by flour and dust.
“Look closely, Ms. Carter,” Vincent said, gesturing to the open door of the safe. Inside weren't just financial ledgers, but dozens of burner phones, vacuum-sealed bricks of hundred-dollar bills, and a ledger bearing the seal of a notorious Chicago syndicate known as the Iron Cross.
My mother gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “David... you weren't just stealing our wages. You were laundering drug money through the restaurant’s payroll.”
David sobbed hysterically, rocking back and forth. “They made me do it! The Iron Cross! If I missed a payment, they would have killed me!”
Vincent turned his head slightly, looking down at me as I held my mother’s hand. He then looked back at David with absolute, chilling detachment.
“They might have killed you,” Vincent murmured, pulling a gold-plated fountain pen from his breast pocket. “But I am going to make you bankrupt, homeless, and infamous. And as for your illegal enterprise...”
Vincent tossed a heavy brass key to my mother.
“Congratulations, Ms. Carter. As of three minutes ago, the deed to this building was transferred to a shell corporation under your name, courtesy of Mr. Sterling’s past-due debts to my associates. You’re no longer an employee here.”
May you like
Vincent walked past them, pausing only to look down at me.
“You own the restaurant now, little one,” Vincent said with a rare, faint smirk. “And I suggest you hire a better chef.”
