Chapter 2 - THE SILVER PEN

The assistant host—whose name tag I now realized read Michael—looked awful. His expensive uniform jacket was torn, and a nasty purple bruise was forming on his left cheekbone.

"What are you doing down here?" I demanded, pulling Leo closer to me.

"David found out I slipped the ledger to your kid," Michael coughed, wincing in pain. "He caught me by the coat check. Dragged me down here right before you all arrived."

"You were helping David steal the wine," I accused, putting the pieces together.

"I was the lookout," Michael admitted, looking down at his scuffed shoes in shame. "David paid me to make sure the loading dock was clear when Marcus's trucks arrived. But when I saw you walk in tonight... with your little boy... holding that bottle of Bordeaux..."

His voice cracked.

"My dad used to own a diner," Michael whispered. "A big corporate chain forced him into bankruptcy. It killed him. When I realized Marcus Thorne was doing the same thing to Arthur’s legacy, I couldn't stomach it anymore. I took David’s burn-bag from his office and tried to hide the ledger."

"Burn-bag?" Tomas asked.

Michael nodded, reaching behind the milk crate. He pulled out a black, fireproof satchel. "David was going to incinerate all his private files in the pizza oven tonight. Everything connecting him to Marcus."

I stood up, handing Leo to Tomas, and walked over to Michael. I unzipped the satchel.

Inside were bank statements, forged inventory logs, and burner phones. But buried at the very bottom was a sealed, cream-colored envelope with my name written on it.

The handwriting was unmistakably Arthur’s.

My breath caught. My hands shook as I broke the seal.

Eleanor,

If you are reading this, my heart finally gave out. I'm writing this from the office. I didn't want to worry you, but I've known for weeks that David is compromised. Marcus Thorne is blackmailing him over gambling debts, forcing him to sabotage the restaurant from the inside.

Marcus thinks he has me cornered. He forged a contract of sale today and tried to force me to sign it. I refused. I know Marcus won't stop. If I pass, he will use David to bleed you dry.

Tears blurred my vision. Arthur had been fighting a war to protect us while his own heart was failing him.

I continued reading.

But Marcus doesn't understand this building the way we do, El. He doesn't know about the speakeasy era. He doesn't know about the failsafe.

The proof of David’s embezzlement, and the original deed to the restaurant proving the contract is a fake, are locked in the old Prohibition wall safe. You know the one.

I hid the brass key where David would never look. Look at Leo’s train, El. Look at the wheels.

I love you both. Keep our table reserved.

Arthur.

I dropped the letter.

"The train," I gasped.

I spun around to Tomas. "Where is Leo's train?"

Tomas looked stricken. "David threw it in the kitchen. It's upstairs."

Despair hit me like a physical blow. The key was upstairs. We were locked in a steel-reinforced vault with no cell service, and Marcus was likely destroying the kitchen as we spoke.

"We need to get out of here," I said, my voice rising in panic. I grabbed a heavy, empty wine crate and smashed it against the steel door. It didn't even dent.

"Ms. Vance," Tomas said quietly. He was shining his phone flashlight up toward the ceiling in the back corner of the cellar.

"What is it?"

"Chef Julian told me stories about this building," Tomas said, pointing to a rusted iron grate set high in the brick wall. "During Prohibition, the mob ran illegal liquor through here. They used dumbwaiter shafts to move the bottles up to the main dining room."

I looked at the grate. It was small. Too small for me. Too small for Tomas or Michael.

But not too small for a five-year-old boy.