Chapter 10 - Handcuffs on Italian Silk
The metallic click of the handcuffs ratchet closing around Blake’s wrists sounded sharper than any broken wine glass.
Deputy Ramirez pulled Blake to his feet, holding him firmly by his upper arm while Detective Miller began bagging the black ledger and the four cash envelopes on the prep table.
Blake did not look like an elite general manager anymore.
His designer blazer was stained with gray dust from the floor tiles, his expensive silk tie was crooked, and his face was smeared with streaks of dried sweat and tears.
"You can't do this to me," Blake whimpered, his voice barely a squeak as the deputies turned him toward the rear exit.
"I have contacts on the municipal licensing commission, I have friends in the mayor's planning committee!"
Detective Miller chuckled dryly, snapping a plastic evidence seal over the black notebook.
"Your friends on the council are the ones who alerted Arthur's corporate auditors two weeks ago, Blake."
"Nobody likes a thief who gets sloppy enough to steal from their own waitresses."
As the deputies led Blake toward the back alley doors, Marcus and the entire line crew stepped aside, watching his walk of shame in total, triumphant silence.
When Blake reached the threshold of the alley, he turned his head back one last time, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine with venomous hatred.
"You think you won tonight, Reed?" Blake spat, his voice trembling with bitter malice.
"You think this is just about some stolen tips and expired fish?"
"I wasn't working alone, you ignorant country boy in your dirty work boots."
"Arthur didn't tell you everything about why the board tried to restructure this lease six months ago, did he?"
"Ask your mother's precious legal partner who really funded the mezzanine renovation loan!"
Arthur, who had just stepped back into the kitchen carrying the company checkbook, stopped dead in his tracks.
His face, normally unshakeable and composed, turned an ash-gray color beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights.
Detective Miller pushed Blake through the heavy metal door, cutting off whatever else the disgraced manager was about to say.
The heavy door slammed shut, the hydraulic latch hissing softly as the alleyway swallowed Blake Hensley into the back of a waiting squad car.
The silence that returned to the kitchen was heavy and complicated.
Marcus looked from me to Arthur, his dark brow furrowing with sudden suspicion.
"Arthur?" I asked slowly, turning around to face the man who had managed my mother’s legal estate for three decades.
"What mezzanine loan was Blake talking about?"
Arthur looked down at the leather checkbook in his hands, his fingers tightening against the dark binding until his knuckles turned pale.
Outside in the dining room, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware continued as guests resumed their dinners, oblivious to the storm brewing behind the kitchen doors.
Rosa slipped into the kitchen, holding a warm cup of coffee, her face glowing with peaceful relief that she had finally been avenged.
Maya followed right behind her, carrying an armful of clean linen napkins, ready to set the tables for the evening's second seating.
Arthur lifted his head, looking at the two women, then at Marcus, and finally straight into my eyes.
"Tommy," Arthur whispered, his voice trembling in a way I had never heard in thirty years of knowing him.
"We need to go upstairs to the attic office right now."
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"There is another set of documents that Blake was never supposed to find."
"And there is someone arriving on the midnight train from Chicago who believes they bought fifty-one percent of this land yesterday afternoon."
