Chapter 3 - The Missing Money
Tony smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
“Break’s over.”
Scarlet shoved the hospital envelope into her apron.
“I still have four minutes.”
“Not anymore.”
Tony looked at Vincent.
“You. Inside.”
Vincent remained seated.
“I’m eating.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed.
“You want this job?”
Vincent almost answered with the truth.
Instead, he rose slowly.
“Desperately.”
Scarlet shot him a warning look.
Inside, Tony separated them immediately. Scarlet was sent to the dining room. Vincent was ordered into the walk-in freezer to inventory meat.
It was an obvious attempt to isolate him.
Vincent played along.
Ten minutes later, Tony entered and shut the freezer door.
“You ask too many questions.”
Vincent counted boxes without looking at him.
“Occupational hazard.”
“You’re a dishwasher.”
“I’m ambitious.”
Tony stepped closer.
“Stay away from Scarlet.”
That got Vincent’s attention.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Vincent finally faced him.
Tony was bigger than he appeared in the dining room, but years of easy living had softened him. Vincent had spent most of his adult life around men capable of violence.
Tony was not one of them.
He was a bully.
And bullies often mistook fear for respect.
“Is there something between you and Scarlet?” Vincent asked.
Tony laughed.
“She wishes.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
Tony failed to notice.
“She’s trouble. Always asking about payroll. Always checking receipts. She thinks because she took a few accounting classes she understands business.”
Accounting.
That explained more.
“Why does that bother you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“It seems to.”
Tony stepped closer.
“Here’s some free advice. Keep your head down, collect your paycheck, and stop asking questions.”
He left.
Vincent stared at the closed door.
Scarlet was not merely being exploited.
She had noticed something.
By noon, Vincent had Marco pull every Magnolia transaction from the previous year.
The result arrived on a secure phone hidden in his locker.
$417,000 was missing.
Not from one account.
From dozens.
Fake vendor payments.
Inflated food costs.
Ghost employees.
Payroll deductions.
Someone had built a careful siphon beneath the restaurant.
Tony was either responsible or involved.
Vincent should have ended the investigation immediately.
Instead, he stayed.
Because Scarlet was still there.
At three that afternoon, the lunch rush ended.
Vincent found her carrying dishes.
“You studied accounting?”
She nearly dropped a plate.
“Are you stalking me now?”
“Tony mentioned it.”
“That man talks too much.”
“So did you?”
“Two years at community college.”
“What happened?”
Scarlet hesitated.
“Milo happened.”
There was no bitterness in the answer.
Only fact.
“Our mom died when I was nineteen. Dad disappeared long before that. Milo was six.”
“So you quit school.”
“I prefer ‘temporarily suspended my glamorous academic career.’”
“Seven years is temporary?”
“Geologically speaking, absolutely.”
Vincent smiled.
Scarlet placed dishes beside him.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Something’s wrong here.”
Vincent continued washing.
“What?”
“The numbers.”
He looked at her.
Scarlet glanced toward the kitchen entrance.
“Tony orders forty pounds of premium steak every Thursday.”
“So?”
“We receive twenty-five.”
Vincent stopped.
“He signs for forty?”
“Every time.”
“How long have you known?”
“Six months.”
“Why haven’t you reported it?”
“I did.”
“To whom?”
“Corporate.”
Vincent felt an unpleasant sensation in his stomach.
“When?”
“Three times.”
He dried his hands.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
That was impossible.
Unless someone above Tony was intercepting complaints.
“Who did you contact?”
Scarlet started to answer.
Then Tony shouted from the office.
“Hayes!”
She rolled her eyes.
“My fan club.”
But Vincent caught her hand before she left.
“Scarlet.”
She looked down at his fingers around hers.
Vincent released her.
“Be careful.”
Something in his tone erased her smile.
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She studied him.
“You’re a strange dishwasher, Vince.”
“So I’ve been told.”
That evening, Vincent met Marco in the back of an armored sedan.
Marco handed him a folder.
“Tony isn’t working alone.”
Vincent opened it.
The restaurant’s regional operations director was Anthony Bellini.
Vincent knew him.
Bellini had attended Vincent’s father’s funeral.
Had eaten at his mother’s table.
Had called Vincent family.
“He approved every suspicious invoice,” Marco said.
Vincent turned another page.
“And Scarlet’s complaints?”
“Never reached corporate compliance.”
“Bellini intercepted them?”
“Looks that way.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Marco continued.
“There’s more.”
He placed a photograph on top of the file.
Tony was standing outside a warehouse beside two men Vincent recognized immediately.
Men employed by Salvatore Rizzo.
Vincent’s principal rival.
The theft was no longer about restaurant money.
Someone had penetrated his legitimate businesses.
“Scarlet may have stumbled into something much larger,” Marco said.
Vincent looked through the window toward Magnolia.
Scarlet was locking the front door.
Alone.
“Put someone on her.”
Marco sighed.
“I already did.”
Vincent glanced at him.
“You knew I’d ask?”
“I’ve known you twenty-two years.”
Scarlet started walking toward the train station.
Then a dark sedan pulled away from the curb behind her.
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression immediately changed.
“What?”
Vincent straightened.
Marco listened for three seconds.
Then looked at him.
“That car isn’t ours.”
Vincent was already opening the door.
Scarlet had been right.
May you like
Curiosity got people hurt.
And somebody had just decided she knew too much.
