“Kitchen made too many.”

“Kitchen made too many.”

It was a lie.

I paid for it.

Two dollars and forty cents.

Nobody died.

Later, after Vivien finally got a table, she looked at me over her soup.

“You knew who I was.”

“Pretty sure.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

I wiped a water ring from the table.

“Maybe you wanted lunch instead of a performance.”

That shut her up.

Not in an angry way.

More like I’d put something on the table she hadn’t expected.

When she left, she squeezed my hand.

The next morning Randall called me into his office.

On his desk sat a printed report.

“Three hundred dollars disappeared from last night’s tip pool.”

I stared at him.

“And?”

“You closed.”

“So did Celia.”

His chair squeaked as he leaned back.

“Funny thing. Celia says you went into the cash room alone.”

I almost laughed.

There was a camera over that door.

Randall knew it.

So did Celia.

Which meant one of two things.

They were stupid.

Or they thought they controlled the footage.

I slipped my phone into my apron pocket.

Recorder running.

“Are you accusing me?”

Randall smiled.

“I’m giving you the chance to confess.”

That was when I knew they had moved from gossip to something criminal.

And now I finally had them talking.

PART 3: They framed me for theft, but forgot one camera

A planted envelope turns humiliation into a criminal setup.

Friday night was packed.

Anniversary couples.

A Bulls player in the corner booth.

Two lawyers arguing over bourbon.

At 9:20, Randall suddenly shouted my name.

Every head turned.

“Office. Now.”

Celia stood beside him.

Smiling.

On Randall’s desk sat a white bank envelope.

Inside were six fifty-dollar bills.

“My missing tip money,” he said.

I stared at it.

“Where’d you find that?”

Celia answered.

“Your locker.”

Nice.

Predictable.

Randall folded his arms.

“Empty your pockets.”

“No.”

“You’re fired.”

“Fine.”

That surprised him.

He expected begging.

I removed my apron.

Placed it on his desk.

“Call the police.”

Celia’s smile disappeared.

Randall blinked.

“What?”

“If I stole money, call them.”

I leaned against the filing cabinet.

“I’ll wait.”

He didn’t move.

That told me plenty.

Unfortunately for him, somebody else called.

Tyler.

The nineteen-year-old kid from the wine incident.

He had been cleaning near the lockers and heard everything.

Two officers arrived twenty minutes later.

Celia gave a beautiful performance.

Concerned supervisor.

Tragic betrayal.

She almost deserved a commercial.

Then one officer asked for surveillance footage.

Randall sighed.

“Camera malfunction.”

I finally smiled.

“Which camera?”

His face changed.

“The locker hallway.”

“Interesting.”

I pulled out my phone.

“There’s another camera above the rear loading dock. Stainless-steel dome. Wide angle. Reflection catches the locker corridor when the service door opens.”

Tyler stared at me.

Randall did not.

Because he knew.

The officers requested the recording.

Randall claimed he didn’t have access.

I texted Vivien Duca.

One sentence.

I think I may finally need that favor you offered me.

Seven minutes later, my phone rang.

Not Vivien.

Her lawyer.

And suddenly Randall’s little office felt much smaller.

PART 4: The Duca lawyer uncovers a much bigger theft

Security footage exposes a scheme targeting the entire restaurant staff.

The lawyer’s name was Miriam Cole.

Sixty-two.

Gray suit.

Voice like a locked door.

She arrived with the restaurant owner, who apparently had been dining at the Duca Foundation across town.

Randall went pale.

Miriam looked at the officers.

“My client’s foundation has a contractual catering agreement with this restaurant. That agreement includes preservation rights regarding security footage affecting assigned personnel.”

Randall swallowed.

Meaning?

Nobody was deleting anything tonight.

The loading-dock camera showed Celia entering the locker corridor at 8:47.

She carried a white envelope.

She came out thirty seconds later without it.

Nobody spoke.

Celia started crying.

I didn’t.

Then the owner asked a question I hadn’t expected.

“Why were you in Noel’s locker?”

Celia snapped.

“She steals!”

The officer paused the video.

“Then why were you carrying the stolen cash before entering her locker?”

Beautiful.

But it got worse.

The police searched Randall’s office computer with the owner’s consent.