Chapter 3 - The Envelope in Locker Seventeen
I turned so fast my shoulder struck the locker.
Tyler stood against the door.
“What the hell?”
“Sorry.”
“You locked the door!”
“Because Celia’s coming.”
My anger disappeared.
“How do you know?”
“She asked where you were.”
I showed him the photograph of my father.
Tyler’s face drained.
“That was today?”
“Yes.”
“Call the police.”
“With what? A picture of my dad carrying groceries?”
“It’s a threat.”
“I know what it is.”
I forwarded every message to a new email account.
Then I sent the recording there too.
Tyler watched.
“You trust the police?”
“I trust backups.”
Someone tried the door.
Celia.
“Noel?”
I put the phone away.
Tyler unlocked the door.
Celia stared at us.
Then at the locked door.
“What are you two doing?”
“Planning a bank robbery,” I said.
She didn’t smile.
“Randall wants you.”
“Again?”
“Office.”
I followed her.
Randall sat behind his desk with two people I had never seen before.
One was an attorney for Bellaforte’s ownership group.
The other introduced herself as Marissa Cole from corporate compliance.
That changed everything.
Randall had escalated.
Or somebody above him had.
Marissa opened a folder.
“We’ve identified additional discrepancies.”
“How many?”
“Nearly eighteen thousand dollars.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the number was absurd.
“Apparently I’ve been very busy.”
The attorney frowned.
“This is serious, Ms. Barrett.”
“I know.”
Marissa placed three documents on the desk.
Inventory losses.
Adjusted gratuities.
A private dining deposit.
Every one connected to my employee credentials.
“Did you authorize these?”
“No.”
“Do you share your access code?”
“No.”
“Has anyone observed you entering it?”
“Probably half the restaurant. Randall makes us use the terminal in an open hallway.”
Randall stiffened.
“That is standard procedure.”
Marissa wrote something down.
Interesting.
Then she asked, “Do you have any reason to believe someone would deliberately use your credentials?”
I looked at Randall.
Then Celia.
Both were watching me.
I could play the recording.
Right now.
But instinct told me not to.
Not yet.
“Yes,” I said.
Randall’s face changed.
“Who?”
“I’d rather provide that information directly to compliance.”
Marissa looked at Randall.
Then at me.
“That can be arranged.”
Randall interrupted.
“There is no reason—”
“There is every reason,” Marissa said.
His mouth closed.
Ten minutes later, she and I were alone.
I played the recording.
She listened without expression.
When it ended, she asked me to send her a copy.
“I will.”
“Do you have the documents referenced?”
“Photographs.”
I showed her.
Her expression finally changed.
“Where did you get these?”
“They were placed in an unused locker.”
“By whom?”
“I didn’t personally see it.”
That was Tyler’s evidence to give, not mine.
She studied the photographs.
“These aren’t copies of the forms we found.”
“No?”
“No. They’re drafts.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means somebody prepared versions before entering the transactions.”
That was the first genuinely good news I had received.
Drafts meant metadata.
Printers.
Computers.
Trails.
Marissa looked at me.
“Do not discuss this conversation with Randall or Celia.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Continue working normally.”
“Can you guarantee my safety?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Why are you asking that?”
I showed her the photograph of my father.
She sat very still.
“Have you told anyone else?”
“Tyler.”
“You need to make a police report.”
“I will.”
“And your father should know.”
That part I hated.
Dad had spent his life worrying about me.
Now I had to tell him someone had photographed him because of my job.
I called him from my car.
He listened quietly.
Then said, “Come home.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I mean I won’t.”
“Noel.”
“If I run, they win.”
“This isn’t a movie.”
“I know.”
“That’s why I’m scared.”
His voice softened.
“So am I.”
We agreed he would stay with my aunt for a few days.
I filed a report.
Then I went home.
At 1:07 a.m., my phone rang.
Luciano.
I stared at his name.
I hadn’t called him.
I answered.
“How did you get my number?”
“You gave it to the restaurant six years ago.”
“That is an unsettling answer.”
“My mother asked Bellaforte to send you an invitation.”
“An invitation to what?”
“Dinner.”
“I work at dinner.”
“Not tomorrow.”
I frowned.
“How do you know my schedule?”
Silence.
“Luciano.”
“My mother is extremely efficient.”
“That family trait is getting creepy.”
He laughed softly.
Then his tone changed.
“Are you okay?”
I looked at the threatening messages.
“Why?”
“You sound different.”
“I’m tired.”
“Noel.”
I hated how quickly he had learned when I was lying.
“Work problem.”
“What kind?”
“The kind I’m handling.”
A pause.
“Does it involve Randall?”
I said nothing.
That was enough.
“I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“No.”
“Fifteen.”
“Luciano.”
“What?”
“I don’t need you arriving like some powerful man who makes problems disappear.”
His voice became quiet.
“What do you need?”
That question stopped me.
Not protection.
Not money.
Not revenge.
“What do you need?”
“I need people to stop assuming I’m helpless.”
“Okay.”
“And I need evidence.”
Another pause.
“That I can understand.”
I almost asked what he meant.
Instead I said good night.
The following evening, I went to Vivien’s home for dinner.
Not because Luciano invited me.
Because Vivien had written the invitation herself.
Noel,
You told me to eat.
Now I am telling you to do the same.
7:00.
V.D.
Her house was elegant without being flashy.
Vivien met me at the door herself.
“You came.”
“You made it sound mandatory.”
“It was.”
Dinner was just the three of us.
Vivien.
Luciano.
Me.
No entourage.
No whispered mythology.
Just food.
For an hour, I almost forgot what was happening.
Then Vivien placed her fork down.
“Why are you frightened?”
I froze.
Luciano looked at me.
“I’m not.”
Vivien’s expression didn’t change.
“I spent forty-two years married to a man who lied beautifully. You do not.”
I looked down.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A video attachment.
I opened it.
Security footage.
Bellaforte.
The employee hallway.
Timestamp: 2:13 a.m.
Celia entered.
Randall followed.
Then they opened my locker.
Randall placed something inside.
Celia looked directly toward the security camera.
And smiled.
A final message appeared beneath the video.
THEY KNOW YOU RECORDED THEM.
Then another.
THEY ARE NOT THE ONLY ONES STEALING.
Vivien leaned forward.
“What is it?”
Before I could answer, Luciano’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His face went completely still.
“Who is it?” Vivien asked.
Luciano looked at me.
Then at his mother.
“The restaurant’s owner.”
May you like
And he said one sentence.
“They just found something in Noel’s locker.”
