Chapter 4 - THE FRAME JOB UNRAVELEDDamian Russo sat behind a massive carved oak desk in a private library illuminated by a roaring fireplace. The fire cast long shadows across his sharp jawline, highlighting the cold, lethal intelligence in his eyes.
"Did you take forty dollars from Coda's safe?" Damian asked, his tone detached and analytical.
"Yes," I confessed, holding my head high despite the pain in my chest. "I wrote my name, the date, and the amount in the yellow housekeeping notebook kept under the desk. I needed it to stop my electricity from being cut off. I was going to return it on Friday."
"Why didn't you ask Ricky for an advance?"
"Because Ricky doesn't give advances without taking something in return," I replied bitterly, looking Damian straight in the eye. "He grabs the waitresses. He steals overtime pay from the kitchen staff. He uses fear to keep everyone quiet, because he knows no one will believe us over him."
Damian didn't look surprised. Instead, he reached into a leather folder on his desk and pulled out a stack of surveillance photographs.
He slid them across the wood toward me.
The images showed Ricky entering the club's main cash office after midnight on multiple occasions, carrying a heavy black duffel bag out through the rear loading dock.
"Over the last six months, eighty-four thousand dollars has vanished from Coda's books," Damian said, leaning back in his chair. "Ricky claimed it was internal shrinkage caused by floor staff. But he needed a permanent scapegoat—someone isolated, desperate, and powerless—to take the fall for the grand total when I audited the club this week."
May you like
My breath caught in my throat as the realization hit me like a physical blow. "He saw my forty-dollar entry in the housekeeping notebook... and used it as his cover."
"Precisely," Damian murmured. "He was going to make sure you were beaten so badly that you'd run away or sign a confession. If I hadn't turned down that alley tonight, you would have taken the blame for eighty-four thousand dollars."
