Chapter 3 - Vincent Kane Hired My Mother—and Suddenly Everyone Wanted Her Fired
The next morning, Mom woke me before sunrise.
I expected panic.
Instead, she was packing.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Are we moving?”
“For a little while.”
Vincent had arranged an apartment above one of his restaurants.
It wasn't fancy like television mansions.
It was small, clean, warm, and had windows overlooking the Chicago River.
I loved it immediately.
Mom hated it.
“This is too much.”
Vincent stood in the doorway.
“You haven't even seen the kitchen.”
“I don't need a kitchen.”
“You need somewhere to live.”
“I can find my own place.”
“With what money?”
She went silent.
Vincent looked away.
Not because he wanted to shame her.
Because he knew the answer hurt.
Then he handed her an envelope.
“Salary.”
Mom opened it.
Her eyes widened.
“First month?”
“Advance.”
“I can't take this.”
“You can.”
“Why?”
“Because I hired you.”
“For what?”
“Manager.”
Mom laughed.
Then she realized he was serious.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I've never managed anything.”
“You've managed a restaurant floor while being underpaid for eleven weeks.”
“That doesn't count.”
“It counts more than a degree.”
Mom stared at him.
“Why me?”
Vincent answered:
“Because you noticed every problem in that restaurant.”
She looked confused.
“How do you know?”
“I asked the cooks.”
Then he looked at me.
“And because your daughter trusts her instincts.”
I smiled.
Mom did not.
“I don't belong in your world.”
“You don't have to.”
“Then what world am I in?”
Vincent glanced toward the window.
“Whatever one you choose.”
Mom took the envelope.
That was how she became manager of Kane's River House.
And that was how our lives became connected to Vincent Kane.
For the first time in months, Mom came home with a paycheck.
She cried when she saw it.
Not because it was huge.
Because it arrived.
Regularly.
Every Friday.
She kept the first one in a drawer.
I asked why.
She said:
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That sometimes good people exist.”
But someone didn't like Mom working for Vincent.
Three days later, an anonymous complaint was filed against Kane's River House.
Then another.
Then four.
The health department arrived.
Then the tax office.
Then labor inspectors.
Every document was technically correct.
Every complaint was vague.
Every accusation disappeared after inspection.
Vincent sat in his office.
“This isn't about the restaurant.”
Mom stood across from him.
“Then what is it?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody thinks you have something.”
“I don't.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Do you remember anything unusual about Sterling's?”
Mom hesitated.
“I worked there.”
“That's not what I asked.”
She thought.
Then:
“There were envelopes.”
“What kind?”
“Large.”
“Where?”
“Back office.”
“Who handled them?”
“David.”
“Anyone else?”
She shook her head.
Then stopped.
“One person.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
“What was her name?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she look like?”
“Dark hair. Gray eyes. Very expensive clothes.”
Vincent went still.
“Did she ever talk to you?”
“Once.”
“What did she say?”
Mom remembered.
“She asked whether I kept copies of payroll forms.”
Vincent's voice became quiet.
“What did you say?”
“That I didn't.”
“Did she ask anything else?”
“She asked if David ever made me sign something I didn't understand.”
Mom stared.
“Why?”
Vincent stood.
“Because she may have been trying to warn you.”
“Who was she?”
Vincent looked at Marcus.
“Find her.”
It took two days.
Her name was Laura Sterling.
David's younger sister.
She had left the company six months earlier.
But Marcus found an address.
A small townhouse in Evanston.
Vincent went himself.
Mom came too.
I was supposed to stay with a sitter.
I did not.
I hid in the SUV and came anyway.
When Vincent discovered me, he looked exhausted.
“You again.”
“I wanted to help.”
“You're four.”
“And a half.”
He almost smiled.
Then Laura opened the door.
She looked terrified.
“Vincent.”
“I need answers.”
“I don't have them.”
“You do.”
Laura looked at Mom.
“Emily?”
Mom nodded.
Laura stepped back.
“Come in.”
The house was almost empty.
Boxes everywhere.
Laura shut the door.
“My brother has been using my name.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Explain.”
She looked at Mom.
“The company was supposed to belong to our father.”
Vincent frowned.
“But David took control.”
“When Dad died.”
“Was the will changed?”
Laura shook her head.
“He forged it.”
Mom stared.
“Why?”
“Because Dad left the company to me.”
Silence.
“David couldn't stand it.”
Vincent looked at the empty room.
“How much did he steal?”
Laura laughed bitterly.
“Money isn't the worst thing.”
“What is?”
“He stole identities.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“Employees.”
Laura walked toward a box.
She opened it.
Inside were copies of driver's licenses.
Social Security forms.
Tax paperwork.
Bank forms.
All belonging to employees.
Mom's face went white.
“My information.”
Laura nodded.
“He used their identities to open accounts.”
Vincent's expression became deadly.
“How long?”
“Years.”
“Who helped him?”
Laura looked at Mom.
“That's why I was trying to warn her.”
“Who?”
Laura whispered:
“Someone inside Sterling's accounting firm.”
Vincent pressed.
“Name.”
She took a breath.
“Richard Vale.”
Marcus immediately wrote it down.
“Where is he?”
Laura shook her head.
“He died.”
Vincent stared.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Mom slowly sat.
Then I noticed something on the floor.
A purple sticker.
A star.
I picked it up.
“What is this?”
Laura looked at it.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you find that?”
“On your floor.”
She took it.
“It belongs to my father.”
I frowned.
“My mom uses stars too.”
Everyone looked at Mom.
Mom blinked.
“I use them for missed meals.”
Laura's voice became faint.
“My father used them to mark fraudulent transactions.”
Vincent looked at me.
“What are the odds?”
Marcus answered:
“Almost none.”
The purple stars were a code.
The same code appeared in David's records.
Every star corresponded to a payment.
Every payment led to a shell company.
Every shell company led to one bank.
And the bank belonged to a man Vincent had spent years trying to expose.
A man named Arthur Bell.
Chicago billionaire.
Philanthropist.
Friend of politicians.
Chairman of three banks.
And secretly the man who financed David Sterling.
Vincent closed the file.
“So that's the game.”
Mom whispered:
“What do we do?”
Vincent looked toward me.
“First, we protect your daughter.”
I frowned.
“Why me?”
He didn't answer immediately.
May you like
Then he pointed to the purple sticker in my hand.
“Because your mother wasn't the only person who saw the pattern.”
Related Stories
