Chapter 3 - The Lie I Told
Victor’s words followed me back into the dining room.
Tell him what you did.
Chloe looked up from her card game as I came through the hallway.
“Mommy?”
“I’m okay.”
The lie came automatically.
That was the problem.
James took the seat across from me again. Victor remained standing near the bar, coat still on, as if he had decided he would not be treated like an employee in his own restaurant.
Elias moved Chloe to a booth farther away and turned the card game into a loud debate about whether a stuffed rabbit was legally allowed to ask for threes.
James waited until Chloe was distracted.
“Who is Maya?”
I rubbed my palms against my apron.
“She used to work here.”
“Used to?”
Victor gave a short laugh.
“She stole from us.”
“Let her answer,” James said.
I looked at Victor.
He had trained me to look at him before I answered questions about the restaurant.
I hated that I still did it.
“Maya Torres was a bartender. She worked here almost two years.”
“What happened?”
I took a breath.
“Last August, a case of reserve Barolo went missing from the basement.”
James frowned.
“I remember an insurance claim.”
Victor folded his arms.
“Maya had access. A bottle was found in her locker.”
James’s eyes returned to me.
“And?”
“And I saw Victor put it there.”
The words were quiet.
They still seemed to strike the walls.
Elias stopped speaking mid-sentence at the other table.
Victor looked bored.
James did not move.
“You saw him put a bottle in her locker.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
The shame hit exactly where I knew it would.
“I said I hadn’t seen who went into the locker room.”
“That wasn’t true.”
“No.”
Victor nodded once, almost approvingly.
“There it is.”
James turned his head.
“Why did you do it?”
I wanted to give him a good answer.
There wasn’t one.
“Because Victor had just given me the eight hundred dollars. Because my rent was due. Because Chloe had been sick. Because I was scared.”
My voice cracked on the last word.
I stared at my hands.
“Maya kept saying she didn’t do it. Victor told us anyone who backed her story could be considered involved. I had never seen him plant anything before. I told myself maybe I misunderstood what I saw.”
“You didn’t,” Victor said.
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“Maya was taking liquor.”
“She denied it.”
“She lied.”
“So you planted a bottle?” James asked.
Victor’s jaw shifted.
“I made sure there was evidence for something she was already doing.”
I stared at him.
“You told me you were checking her locker.”
Victor gave me a thin smile.
“You needed to believe that.”
My face went hot.
James stood again, but this time his anger felt different.
Colder.
More controlled.
“Why did you want her gone?”
Victor looked at him for a long moment.
Then he said, “Because she was going to report me.”
“For what?”
Victor’s silence answered before he did.
“A kitchen injury,” I said.
James looked at me.
I kept going.
“Devon Parker. He was seventeen. Dishwasher, sometimes prep. He sliced his palm badly on the meat slicer. Needed stitches.”
James’s eyebrows drew together.
“I was told he ignored procedure.”
“That’s what Victor said.”
“What happened?”
“Maya said the guard on the slicer had been broken for weeks.”
Victor snapped, “It had been reported for repair.”
“After he got hurt,” I said.
“That is not true.”
“Maya took a picture of it before the ambulance came.”
Victor looked at me sharply.
That was new.
He had not known I knew about the picture.
James caught the look.
“Where is the picture?”
“I don’t know. Maya showed it to me on her phone once.”
Victor scoffed.
“Maya was angry because I cut her shifts. She was drinking on the job. She wanted leverage.”
“Was she stealing?” James asked me.
I hesitated.
That mattered.
“I saw her take one bottle home once. A regular had given it to her as a gift, but I don’t know if she had permission.”
Victor spread one hand.
“Thank you.”
“But that’s not the same as stealing a case,” I said.
“No, it means she was already willing to break rules.”
James looked at Victor.
“And you decided that gave you permission to manufacture the rest.”
Victor stepped forward.
“I decided I wasn’t going to let one unstable bartender drag this place into an investigation because a teenager ignored training.”
“You don’t know that he ignored training.”
“I know what happens when employees start thinking every mistake is management’s fault.”
Beneath Victor’s anger, I heard something that was not greed.
Fear.
Not fear of prison.
Fear of losing control.
“This restaurant almost closed eight years ago,” he said. “Your father knew how to run it. Then he got sick and everyone started taking advantage. Free meals. Friends clocking in friends. Bottles walking out the back door. I stopped it.”
James’s face hardened at the mention of his father.
Victor saw it and pressed harder.
“You think your name kept this place open? Your name kept people afraid. I used that fear to make them show up.”
James’s voice became very quiet.
“You used my name to threaten people.”
“I used what you gave me.”
Nobody moved.
That sentence seemed to hit James harder than anything else Victor had said.
He looked toward the kitchen, the polished bar, the framed photographs of old Boston on the walls.
Then at the employees’ envelopes still sitting on the table.
“Give Elias your keys,” he said.
Victor stared at him.
“What?”
“You’re suspended pending review.”
Victor laughed.
“On Christmas Eve.”
“You chose the date.”
“I have run this restaurant for eleven years.”
“And tonight you are leaving it.”
Victor’s face changed.
The professional mask slipped.
“You suspend me because a waitress who admitted lying tells you a story?”
“No,” James said. “I suspend you because I found fifteen employees’ cash in your safe with penalties you can’t explain.”
Victor reached into his pocket and threw his key ring onto the table.
It struck a water glass and sent it wobbling.
Chloe jumped at the sound.
I stood immediately.
Victor noticed.
His anger turned toward me.
“You think he’s going to save you?”
“Victor,” Elias warned.
Victor ignored him.
“He’ll feel guilty tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be an employee problem again.”
James took one step forward.
Victor finally backed away.
Then he smiled at me.
“You still have to go home, Grace.”
My mouth went dry.
“What does that mean?”
He opened the front door.
“Ask your landlord.”
The door slammed behind him.
I grabbed my phone from my purse.
Three missed calls.
All from Mr. Keating, the superintendent at my building.
Before I could call back, the phone rang again.
I answered.
“Grace?” Mr. Keating said. “I’m sorry to do this tonight, but I need you to know your unit’s been cleared.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“What do you mean cleared?”
“The lock was changed this afternoon. Your things were moved to storage.”
I looked through the glass doors at the snow coming down harder.
“By who?”
May you like
There was a pause.
“Victor Hale told the owner you surrendered the apartment.”
