Chapter 3 - THE SCARF IN THE TRASH
"What do you mean his tracking bracelet went dark?" I asked, throwing my car door open and stepping out into the freezing wind. "He was sitting in booth seven when I left last night!"
Eleanor Vance gripped my arm, her leather gloves surprisingly strong. "Frank didn't just wander into your restaurant for a cheap meal, Emily. His name is Franklin Harrison. He is the billionaire founder and majority shareholder of the entire Harrison corporate empire."
The world seemed to stop spinning for a fraction of a second. The elderly man with the worn elbows, the man who had counted crumpled dollar bills beneath the table—that was the founder of the company?
"He has early-stage dementia," Eleanor continued, her breath misting in the frigid air. "But he is still incredibly sharp most days. His estranged son, Richard, has been trying to declare him legally incompetent to seize control of the board. Yesterday afternoon, Richard froze Frank's personal accounts to force him into a locked medical facility. Frank escaped his security detail, took a bus to the edge of town, and vanished. He just wanted to see one of his restaurants one last time."
My stomach dropped into my shoes. "I bought him meatloaf," I whispered. "He didn't have enough money for soup."
"You showed him dignity," Eleanor said, her voice cracking. "I found this receipt on the floorboard of a taxi cab parked three blocks from your restaurant. The driver said Frank hired him, then suddenly got out of the car in the alley behind the Grill and never came back. We have to go to that restaurant right now."
I didn't hesitate. I left my Honda in the diner parking lot and got into the passenger seat of Eleanor's Town Car. Her driver sped through the snowy streets, the tires gripping the ice.
When we pulled into the parking lot of Harrison’s Grill, the "OPEN" sign was buzzing its familiar neon red. My heart hammered against my ribs as I followed Eleanor through the glass double doors.
The lunchtime rush hadn't started yet. Darren Cole was standing behind the front counter, organizing the cash drawers. When he looked up and saw me, his face twisted in immediate rage.
"I told you you were permanently trespassed from this property, Emily!" Darren barked, slamming the drawer shut. "Get out before I call the police."
Eleanor stepped in front of me, flashing a heavy brass badge that carried the corporate Harrison seal. "You can call the police, Mr. Cole, but they will be arresting you. I am Eleanor Vance, Executive Counsel for the board of directors. Where is the elderly man who was sitting in booth seven last night?"
Darren’s face lost all its color. For a second, his arrogant posture collapsed, but he quickly forced a tight, artificial smile.
"Ma'am, I have no idea who you're talking about," Darren lied smoothly. "A vagrant came in begging for food. This former employee broke company policy to feed him. I escorted the vagrant off the premises an hour after closing."
"You're lying," I said, my voice shaking. "He had a flip phone. He made a call."
"He was a crazy old man talking to himself!" Darren snapped.
I looked past Darren, scanning the area behind the counter. My eyes landed on the small, gray trash can tucked beneath the register.
Sticking out of the plastic liner, half-covered by coffee grounds, was a piece of knitted brown wool.
Without thinking, I shoved past Darren and reached into the garbage. I pulled the fabric out.
It was Frank's scarf. The exact same scarf he had neatly folded beside him at the booth.
"He wouldn't leave this behind," I said, holding the stained wool up. "It's below freezing outside. Why is his scarf in your garbage, Darren?"
Darren took a step back, his eyes darting toward the kitchen doors. "The old man had a medical episode," he stammered, the lie forming quickly on his lips. "He collapsed in the lobby. I called an ambulance! They took him away. He must have dropped the scarf when the paramedics put him on the stretcher."
Eleanor immediately pulled out her smartphone. Her fingers flew across the screen. "My team monitors all emergency dispatch logs in the county. If an ambulance was dispatched to this address last night, it will be in the system."
The restaurant was dead silent, save for the hum of the refrigerators.
May you like
Eleanor looked up from her phone, her eyes burning with a terrifying, cold fury.
"No ambulance was called to this address last night, Mr. Cole," Eleanor whispered. "But my security team just pulled the ATM security footage from the bank across the street. At 11:45 PM, you were caught on camera physically dragging an unconscious elderly man out your back door and throwing him into the alley."
