I Asked a Man as Strict as My Father for My Mother’s Wages, but When the Boss Dropped the Keys to a New Car, Everyone Held Their Breath

That day, when my mother told me that she should not return to work anymore, the white apron clenched in her hand frightened me for the first time.

I was four years and six months old. I thought those six months were very important, because Mother always said that I was already a big boy and should know the truth.

The previous night, in our small apartment in Chicago, I heard Mother’s quiet crying behind the kitchen door. I lay in bed, had my red hooded shirt hidden under the blanket, and tried not to let my breathing be noticed.

“Please, Mr. Sterling,” Mother whispered into the telephone. “Eleven weeks have passed. The rent is due. Rory needs food. Just pay me what I have already worked for.”

A man’s cold voice came from the other side.

“You should be grateful that you still have a job.”

“How much longer do I have to wait?”

“One week. Just one more week.”

Mother fell silent. And I realized for the first time that sometimes grown-ups use silence as an answer when they no longer have an answer.

The next morning the babysitter called and said she could not come. Mother took my hand and brought me to Sterling’s restaurant. She worked there: morning preparation, the midday kitchen, evening closing. Sometimes she returned home at one o’clock at night, with sauce stains on her shoes and such tiredness in her eyes whose name I did not know then.

“You will sit in the office and draw, okay?” she told me at ten in the morning. “Do not go anywhere.”

On her desk I saw a folded sheet. Dates and numbers were written on it, and below, in Mother’s handwriting: “Eleven weeks. Amount due — 5,430 dollars and 30 cents.” Purple stars were drawn beside several dates.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Nothing, Rory.”

But even Mother’s voice said tiredly that this nothing was not nothing.

At midday I put on the red hood, hid the sheet inside, and slipped out of the office. The restaurant hall smelled of roasted meat, coffee, and expensive perfume. Vincent Kane sat at the farthest table in the corner.

Everyone in Chicago knew his name. Drivers fell silent when his black car stopped in the street. Owners paid him money before the bank. The police said he was dangerous, but no one said that he was a liar.

Seven men stood around him. Three put their hands inside their jackets. Two pushed their chairs back so quickly that an iron sound rang across the floor.

Vincent raised only one finger.

Everyone stopped.

“Are you coming to me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

I looked over all seven guards.

“You are the only one near whom no one laughs.”

The corner of one man’s mouth moved, but Vincent’s look immediately silenced him.

“What is your name?”

“Rory Carter.”

“How old are you?”

“Four and a half.”

“Does your mother know you are here?”

I thought a little.

“She thinks I am in the bathroom.”

Vincent moved his glass aside.

“How did you get through seven guards?”

“There were six,” one man said quietly.

“Seven,” I corrected him.

I spread the sheet on the table. Vincent first looked at the numbers, then at the purple stars.

“What are these?”

I put my finger on the first star.

“Those are the nights when we had no dinner.”

At that moment David Sterling was laughing loudly at the bar and spinning the keys to a new Porsche on his finger. Vincent looked toward him. The keys slipped from David’s hand and fell onto the stone floor with a sharp metallic sound.

“David,” Vincent said. “You owe this child’s mother 5,430 dollars and 30 cents. Is it a lie?”

David first looked at the sheet, then at me.

“This is none of your business, Vincent. It is a temporary cash difficulty. I would have paid her anyway.”

“When?”

“In another week.”

At that moment I heard the sound of quick steps behind me.

“Rory Carter!”

Mother rushed out of the office. Her face had gone white with fear. She seized me by the shoulders and placed me beside her.

“Mr. Kane, forgive me. I did not know he had come out.”

Vincent pointed to the sheet.

“Did you write this?”

Mother looked at the purple stars.

“Yes.”

David took one step forward.

“Enough. If you turn all this into a performance, do not come tomorrow.”

Mother squeezed my hand harder. I thought she would ask for one more week again.

But she took off the apron, folded it once, and held it out to David.

“You still owe me eleven weeks’ money, whether I work here tomorrow or not.”

Vincent’s gaze moved from Mother’s hand to David’s face. Then he strangely moved toward the sheet lying on the table and brought his finger to its lower corner…

Vincent’s finger touched the lower corner of the sheet, but he did not turn it over. First he looked at Mother, as if waiting for permission from her.

“May I?” he asked.

Mother nodded. And I hid my hands in the pockets of the red hood, because suddenly I became afraid that my stars would disappear.

Vincent folded the sheet in two and handed it to one of the guards.

“Marco, photograph both sides. Right now.”

David changed color.

“This is a private wage matter.”

“Then why are you afraid that someone else will read it?” Vincent asked calmly.

“I am afraid of nothing.”

“People who are afraid of nothing do not repeat this so often.”

The guard took out a small device. Its screen shone coldly. Mother stood in front of me as if covering me with her body, but for the first time I saw that she herself was trembling.

“Rory, go back to the office, please,” she told me.

“Will you come too?”

Mother could not answer.

Vincent looked at David.

“How long do you take to pay employees here?”

“According to the agreement.”

“Does the agreement say eleven weeks?”

“In business, delays sometimes happen.”

“Payment may be delayed in business. Not deception.”

David struck the table with his hand. The wineglass shook and red liquid spilled onto the white tablecloth.

“No one gave you the right to threaten me in this restaurant.”

Vincent did not even look at the spilled wine.

“I am not threatening you. I am asking why you spin the keys to a new car when your employee cannot pay for food.”

Every table in the hall fell silent. Even the clinking of dishes from the kitchen stopped.

David looked at Mother.

“Did you plan all this?”

Mother raised her head.

“I only asked for what I worked for.”

“Bringing a child and complaining to this man is not asking for what you worked for.”

“I did not bring him,” Mother said. “He came himself.”

I raised my hand.

“I came because you said you would pay after one week.”

Vincent’s face changed for the first time. His eyes were no longer only cold; now something heavy appeared in them.

“How many times did you tell him this?” he asked David.

David did not answer.

Vincent signaled to Marco.

“Bring the records.”

“Here?” Marco asked.

“Here.”

David leaned forward.

“You cannot do this.”

“I am already doing it.”

Marco went through the restaurant’s back door. A few minutes later he held a black folder. It was so thick that when he placed it on the table, the wooden surface groaned.

Mother looked at the folder and quietly said to me:

“Rory, whatever happens, stand behind me.”

“Mother, is Vincent good?”

She lowered her eyes.

“I do not know. But today I saw for the first time a man who is not afraid of David.”

Marco spread out the first pages. There were employees’ names, hours, and payments. Several weeks’ amounts beside Mother’s name were marked with zeros. In the second column, the restaurant’s income was increasing on those same days.

David sank into the chair.

“These are internal records. You cannot use them.”

“Why?” I asked.

Everyone turned toward me.

David opened his mouth, but could not find a word.

Vincent pointed to the last page of the folder.

“Now show me the main sheet.”

Marco opened a brown folder and took out a small sealed packet. Mother immediately stepped back.

“What is this?” she asked.

Vincent looked at the packet.

“The thing that will tell you much more than this restaurant’s money.”

David tried to jump to his feet, but two guards appeared behind him.

“Do not open it, Vincent.”

Silence fell heavily over the room.

Vincent put his hand on the sealed packet and looked at Mother.

“Before I open this, you must know that after this there will be no going back.”

Mother pressed my head against her stomach. Her heart was beating fast.

“We have had nothing left to return to for a long time.”

Vincent put a fingernail to the seal. The paper tore and a small memory card appeared inside. Marco opened a computer, and Vincent bent toward the screen.

The first frame of the video appeared. It was a corridor. The time digits blinked in the corner of the screen.

Mother closed her eyes.

But David looked for the first time not at Vincent, but at the exit…

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David looked toward the exit, but two guards were already standing at the door. I hid near Mother’s lap and looked at the screen.

The restaurant’s back office was visible in the video. The time was ten twelve in the evening. Mother stood at the table, holding the same sheet on which my purple stars had been drawn.

“Mr. Sterling, this is already the eleventh week,” Mother was saying. “Pay me today, at least.”

David turned his back to the camera, but his voice was clearly heard.

“I have no money.”

“You had money for the Porsche.”

“The car is my business.”

“Then my wages are my business too.”

David raised his voice.

“If you mention this money one more time, I will make it so no one in the city can employ you again.”

In the video Mother stopped for several seconds.

“Is that a threat?”

“It is advice. Be grateful that I have not fired you.”

The screen went black and then another frame appeared. Marco stood in David’s office, holding a folder.

“I added up all the employees’ hours,” Marco said in the video. “The money saved on wages exceeds twenty-eight thousand dollars in eleven weeks.”

“Where is this money?” David’s voice was heard.

“The amounts transferred to your personal account are visible.”

“Correct the accounts.”

“How?”

“Write that the employees received the money in advance.”

In the hall Mother covered her mouth with her hand. Vincent’s face was motionless, but his fingers had slowly begun tapping on the edge of the table.

Marco paused the video.

“Here is the last part.”

David’s face appeared close-up on the screen. He was sitting alone and talking on the telephone.

“If Kane finds out anything, everything is over. I covered loans in his name, and now I have to return the money. The restaurant’s income is no longer enough.”

David began to shout.

“This is fabricated!”

“That is your voice,” Vincent told him.

“Someone edited it.”

“Your face is on the camera, your voice is on the audio, and your signature is in the accounts.”

David looked at Mother.

“Did you know the cameras were recording?”

“No.”

“Then why did Vincent have this material?”

Vincent looked directly at him for the first time.

“Because you opened this restaurant with my money.”

It was as if David had been struck in the face.

“You… you only gave me a loan.”

“A loan you never returned. Then you took two more debts in my name and put the employees’ wages in your pocket.”

Mother asked quietly:

“Is that why you had our records?”

“At first I only wanted to find my money,” Vincent answered. “Then I saw how he treated people like you.”

He looked at my sheet.

“These stars are the most accurate record that exists in this room.”

David pushed his chair back.

“I will call a lawyer.”

“Call him,” Vincent said. “And tell him that there is also a video, bank statements, and employees’ signatures.”

“You cannot destroy me.”

“I am doing nothing. I am simply letting your words reach you.”

Mother knelt beside me.

“Rory, let us go.”

Vincent nodded.

“My accountant will come to your home tomorrow morning. He will verify all the hours and you will receive the money.”

Mother said quickly:

“We do not want charity.”

“I know. That is why you will receive what belongs to you.”

As we were walking toward the door, the telephone in front of me rang. Marco answered it. His face immediately changed.

“Vincent, this is the police station.”

Vincent took the telephone from him.

“I am listening.”

He listened for several seconds. Then he shifted his eyes to David.

“No,” he said quietly. “This is no longer only about wages.”

The blood drained from David’s face.

“What happened?” Mother asked.

Vincent did not answer. He returned the telephone to Marco and bent toward me.

“Rory, now hold your mother’s hand tightly.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the door, where police lights were flashing outside.

“Because David has another secret, not your mother’s money, one that you do not know about yet…”