Chapter 3 - Eleven Weeks of Lies
Elena Marquez arrived at Sterling’s Bistro carrying a laptop, a leather folder, and the expression of a woman who had never enjoyed being lied to.
She was Vincent Kane’s financial attorney.
That was what Mom was told.
David Sterling called her something much less polite when he thought nobody could hear him.
Elena heard him anyway.
“I’d save the insults,” she said, setting her laptop on a private table. “You may need your imagination later.”
David’s anger had grown as his fear grew.
That was something I remembered.
When he believed he controlled everyone, he smiled constantly.
Once he realized he might not, he became loud.
“None of you have authority to examine my books.”
Elena opened her folder.
“Correct.”
David blinked.
Vincent sat across from him.
“Then there’s no problem.”
Elena continued.
“Unless you voluntarily authorize an independent audit.”
“Why would I do that?”
Vincent looked toward the seventeen employees gathered near the kitchen.
“Because if you don’t, they can make complaints individually.”
Elena began counting on her fingers.
“State labor department. Federal Wage and Hour Division. Department of Revenue if payroll deductions were recorded but not transmitted. Your bank if payroll accounts were misrepresented. Possibly your investors, depending on where the money went.”
David stopped speaking.
Elena smiled.
“Or we can look now.”
Mom whispered to Vincent.
“You don’t need to do this.”
He looked at her.
“Yes, I do.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Vincent glanced toward me.
I was seated at his table eating bread.
A lot of bread.
Somebody had brought butter, soup, chicken, potatoes, and three desserts.
Mom had tried to stop them.
Vincent said a child who counted missed dinners with purple stars could order anything she wanted.
I ordered grilled cheese.
Vincent looked back at Mom.
“Because your daughter shouldn’t have had to ask.”
Mom lowered her eyes.
That answer did something to her.
For months, David had made her believe receiving her own wages was a favor.
Vincent talked about it like payment wasn’t kindness.
It was an obligation.
The distinction was small.
But it changed everything.
David eventually signed the authorization.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he believed the alternative would be worse.
Elena began examining the restaurant records.
Within forty minutes, she found the first problem.
Payroll had been processed.
The employees simply hadn’t received it.
She turned her laptop toward David.
“You marked these transactions completed.”
“Accounting did.”
“Your electronic signature approved them.”
“I approve hundreds of transactions.”
Elena clicked again.
“The funds were then moved.”
David’s face tightened.
“Business expenses.”
“To DS Holdings.”
Silence.
Vincent looked at him.
“What is DS Holdings?”
“A management company.”
Elena searched.
“Registered to David Sterling.”
Nobody seemed surprised.
She opened another page.
“Three transfers totaling eighty-six thousand dollars.”
David folded his arms.
“Owner distribution.”
“From payroll reserves?”
“It all belongs to the same company.”
Elena shook her head.
“Not if you represented the money as withheld employee compensation.”
David stood.
“This is absurd.”
Then Mom spoke.
“What did you buy?”
Everyone turned toward her.
Her voice trembled.
But she didn’t stop.
“You said you couldn’t pay me because the restaurant was struggling.”
David stared.
“You made me feel guilty every time I asked.”
“Claire—”
“You said if I quit, you might not be able to process the back pay.”
He glanced around.
“This isn’t the place.”
“You told me Rory and I should be grateful.”
His expression sharpened.
“You’re forgetting who gave you this job.”
Mom flinched.
I stopped eating.
Vincent noticed.
“Sit down, David.”
Sterling looked at him.
“I’m not one of your employees.”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice turned colder.
“They deserve more respect.”
David sat.
Elena kept digging.
What she found over the next two hours made even Vincent quiet.
There hadn’t been a payroll problem.
There hadn’t been a bank delay.
There hadn’t been missing tax paperwork.
David had deliberately delayed wages for employees he considered least likely to challenge him.
Single mothers.
Immigrants.
Kitchen workers with limited English.
Young servers living paycheck to paycheck.
Anyone who complained received partial payments.
Just enough to keep them working.
The money went through DS Holdings.
Then into payments for personal expenses.
A luxury apartment.
Designer watches.
Private club dues.
And a large down payment made eleven days earlier.
Elena rotated the screen.
There it was.
The Porsche.
Mom stared.
“How much?”
Elena hesitated.
Vincent answered for her.
“More than he owes everyone in this room.”
David slapped the table.
“That has nothing to do with payroll!”
A phone camera appeared at one of the customer tables.
Then another.
David saw them.
“This is a private establishment! Stop recording!”
The customers kept recording.
Vincent looked at Anthony.
“Ask them respectfully not to film the employees.”
David exhaled.
Then Vincent added, “Sterling can speak for himself.”
David’s head snapped up.
He realized what Vincent had done.
Protected the workers.
Not him.
David stood again.
“I’m done.”
He started toward the office.
Vincent didn’t stop him.
Neither did the guards.
David reached the office and slammed the door.
Mom looked frightened.
“Is he leaving?”
Anthony glanced toward the side exit.
“There’s another door.”
Vincent sighed.
“Of course there is.”
Thirty seconds later, an engine roared outside.
Everybody turned.
The Porsche shot out of the employee parking lot.
David had run.
I looked at Vincent.
“Is he getting away?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Vincent took a sip of water.
“Because people like David always think leaving is the same as escaping.”
I didn’t understand.
I understood later.
By five o’clock, Sterling’s Bistro was closed.
Every employee received instructions from Elena on documenting missing wages.
Vincent arranged emergency advances for anyone who needed groceries or rent.
Not gifts.
Advances against money David already owed them.
Mom refused hers at first.
“I can’t take your money.”
“It isn’t mine,” Vincent said.
“It came from you.”
“It will come from Sterling.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
Vincent looked almost amused.
“I rarely guarantee things I can’t deliver.”
Mom hesitated.
Then she looked at me.
I had put half my grilled cheese into a napkin for later.
That decided it.
Mom accepted enough for groceries.
Nothing more.
We were preparing to leave when Elena called Vincent aside.
Their conversation lasted less than a minute.
Vincent’s face changed.
“What?” Mom asked.
He looked at her.
“Elena found something else.”
David’s fraud wasn’t limited to payroll.
For nearly eighteen months, money had moved through accounts belonging to suppliers who did not appear to exist.
Invoices had been created.
Payments approved.
Funds transferred.
Then withdrawn.
Elena estimated at least $640,000.
Mom stared.
“From the restaurant?”
“Partly.”
“Where else?”
Vincent didn’t answer immediately.
His silence frightened me.
Elena did.
“Some of it appears to have come from investors.”
Mom looked between them.
“Who invested?”
Vincent Kane did not move.
“I did.”
The room seemed to grow colder.
David hadn’t merely stolen from employees.
He had stolen from the one man in Chicago everyone believed he was too afraid to cross.
Mom whispered, “He stole from you?”
Vincent’s eyes remained on the financial statement.
“It appears so.”
Anthony swore beneath his breath.
Several bodyguards exchanged looks.
I had heard enough adults talk about Vincent to know what everyone was thinking.
What happens when someone steals from Vincent Kane?
I tugged his sleeve.
He looked down.
“You’re not going to hurt him, right?”
Every adult nearby went still.
Vincent crouched until our eyes were level.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because Mom says hurting people doesn’t fix things.”
Vincent studied me.
Behind him stood seven men who would probably have done anything he asked.
Then he nodded.
“Your mother is right.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He looked toward the restaurant windows.
Night had fallen over Chicago.
Somewhere beyond those lights, David Sterling was running.
Vincent’s expression became calm again.
“The worst thing you can do to a man who built his life on lies, Rory...”
He folded the evidence into Elena’s folder.
“...is make everyone see the truth.”
That night, David Sterling’s phone went dark.
His apartment was empty.
And the Porsche he had been so proud of disappeared from its parking garage.
But just before midnight, Mom received a text from an unknown number.
Six words.
May you like
You should have kept your mouth shut.
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