Chapter 2 - A Signature I Never Made
Frank did not touch the paper.
“Photograph the safe first,” he said. “Every shelf, every envelope. Then we make a record of who handled what.”
I took pictures with my phone while he called the company's outside accountant. It was close to ten, and the restaurant dining room still hummed beyond the office wall. Somebody laughed at a table. A dishwasher ran. Normal sounds, indifferent to the fact that someone had used my name to authorize a quarter-million dollars I didn't have.
The amount on the form was $247,600.
The payee was a consulting firm called Cumberland Hospitality Advisors. I'd seen that name once during due diligence, buried among dozens of maintenance contractors and event vendors. Marco had described them as a cost-control specialist.
“His cost-control specialist?” I asked.
“According to the paperwork, yours,” Frank said grimly.
I examined the signature. Whoever had copied it got the broad loop on the L almost right. They'd missed the way I crossed the H, a small habit left over from my father's handwriting lessons. But a clerk at a bank wouldn't know that.
“Stop the payment.”
“We'll try,” Frank said. “A scheduled wire may still be in the approval queue. We have to verify through the bank's fraud department and preserve their logs.”
I wanted him to promise the money was safe. He didn't.
Underneath the transfer document were thirteen envelopes. I recognized the names: Devin Marsh, bartender; Rosa Calderon, line cook; Patrice Gray, shift supervisor; nine others. Each held a check stub and an itemized sheet marked VOLUNTARY TIP REALLOCATION.
I sat at Marco's desk and opened Devin's envelope.
Three hundred and twenty dollars deducted for something called a service-quality adjustment. Then another two hundred. And another. His signature appeared at the bottom of all three forms.
“Employees can't simply sign away pooled tips to management,” Frank said, reading over my shoulder. “There are rules. And if money was taken, we need a payroll specialist immediately.”
“What if they didn't sign?”
“We document that. We don't assume anything until we ask them.”
I remembered Devin telling me he missed his son's school play because he couldn't afford to lose a shift. I'd thought he was tired and overworked. In truth, he was being paid less than he had earned.
The office door creaked.
Patrice stood there, still wearing her name tag. She was forty-two, with tired brown eyes and an even voice that had held the kitchen together every night I worked here.
“You found the envelopes,” she said.
“Did you know?”
She swallowed. “I signed the payroll adjustments. Or I clicked to approve them. That's what Marco told me I had to do to keep the restaurant open.”
“You could've come to headquarters.”
Patrice laughed without humor. “Headquarters answered to Marco. Before you bought the place, the last owner drank with him on Tuesdays. After you bought it, no one told us who you were.”
Her words landed harder than the menu.
I'd gone undercover because I didn't trust the people running the chain. I hadn't considered what it looked like from below: another anonymous owner collecting reports while the staff absorbed the damage.
Patrice pointed at an envelope with ROSA on it. “Her mother is sick. Marco said if she made trouble, her work authorization documents would be questioned. He knew she was born in Texas. He didn't care. He wanted her scared.”
“Did you tell Rosa that was nonsense?” I asked.
“No. Because I needed this job too.”
Frank said softly, “Patrice, you should get independent advice before giving us a formal statement. We can arrange someone who represents employees, not the company.”
She looked surprised by that. Then suspicious. “How do I know this isn't another trick?”
“You don't,” I said. “And you don't have to trust me tonight.”
She stepped closer to the desk. “Then hear one thing before I go. Marco isn't the only one with access to those accounts.”
“Who else?”
“I saw someone from corporate here Saturday, after closing. A woman. She had the code to the server closet.”
Frank and I exchanged a look. Only three people had that code: me, our systems contractor, and Redwood's acting finance director, Celia Baird.
Celia had helped me finance the purchase. She'd reassured me that Marco was rough but indispensable. She had personally approved the transition plan that kept him in charge.
My phone buzzed.
A message from the bank's automated system appeared on the screen: NEW PAYEE CONFIRMED — CUMBERLAND HOSPITALITY ADVISORS.
A second message followed, sent from the company account that I used for approvals.
Your transfer has been authorized.
May you like
I looked at the timestamp. It was 10:17 p.m.
I had been standing in the office the entire time.
