Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO STOLE THE MENU
Richard’s perfect posture shattered.
He lunged across the desk to grab the leather journal, but I stepped back, snapping the book shut and sliding it into my coat pocket.
"Caroline?" Richard breathed, the color draining from his face. "You spoke to my wife?"
"She visited me the day I was released from the halfway house," I said evenly. "Caroline couldn't live with the guilt anymore, Richard. She knew you forged the deed. She knew you funneled the pension money into your private accounts. And she knew you forced her brother to take the fall for the health inspector payoffs."
Grant, standing by the door, suddenly looked sick.
"Wait," Grant said, his voice high and tight. "The health inspector payoffs? Mr. Bellamy, you told me Elias did that."
I looked at the floor manager. Grant was arrogant, but he was also young. Too young to have been involved in the original crime. He was just another pawn in Richard's long game.
"Richard doesn't do his own dirty work, Grant," I said. "He finds desperate people, gives them a little bit of power, and then uses them as a shield when things go wrong. How much of the missing liquor inventory has he blamed on you this quarter?"
Grant swallowed hard, looking away.
"Shut up, Elias," Richard snapped. He was sweating now. The pristine billionaire facade was cracking, revealing the desperate, greedy man beneath.
"You have nothing," Richard sneered, pointing a shaking finger at me. "My wife is an alcoholic. Her testimony is useless in court. And that journal is hearsay. I have the best lawyers in Chicago. I will bury you in litigation until you die in a gutter."
"You don't need lawyers to bury people, Richard," a new voice said.
We all turned.
Standing in the corner of the room, near an old filing cabinet, was Maya.
She had set the silver watch down and was now holding something else. Something she had pulled from a small, hidden compartment at the back of my desk.
It was a thick, heavy velvet coat.
A woman's coat.
"This is my mother's," Maya whispered, running her hand over the dark blue fabric. "She wore this the night she disappeared for three days when I was a little girl. She told me she had gone to visit a friend. But when she came back, she had a broken arm, and she wouldn't speak for a month."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Clara’s coat?" I asked, stepping toward her.
I had never seen that coat before. It wasn't in the desk when I went to prison.
Maya turned to Richard, her hazel eyes blazing with a fury that mirrored my own.
"You told my mother that if she ever tried to dig into the restaurant's finances, you would take me away from her," Maya said, her voice shaking. "You told her you had friends in Child Protective Services."
Richard took a step back, raising his hands. "Maya, be reasonable. Your mother was unstable."
"She wasn't unstable!" Maya shouted, tears streaming down her face. "She was terrified! Of you!"
Maya reached into the pocket of the velvet coat.
She pulled out a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper.
It was a printed menu from Bellamy House, dated eight years ago.
But on the back, hastily scrawled in black ink, were three lines of text.
He locked me in the wine cellar.
He says if I don't sign over my trust fund, I'll never see Maya again.
I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm signing it.
I stared at the handwriting. My daughter’s handwriting.
A cold, lethal rage settled into my bones. It wasn't the hot anger of a wronged businessman. It was the absolute, terrifying fury of a father.
Richard hadn't just stolen my legacy. He had tortured my daughter while I was locked in a cage.
I turned slowly to face Richard.
He saw the look in my eyes and immediately backed away, bumping into the oak desk.
"Now, Elias," Richard stammered, raising his hands. "Let's talk about this like businessmen. I can write you a check. Ten million dollars. Right now. You can take Clara and Maya and go anywhere you want."
"I don't want your money," I said, taking a slow step toward him.
"Twenty million!" Richard pleaded, his voice breaking. "I’ll transfer the title of the restaurant back to you tomorrow!"
"I don't want the restaurant, Richard."
I reached him, grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive charcoal suit, and slammed him against the oak desk. The framed photograph rattled.
"I want my daughter's life back," I snarled, pulling him close until he could smell the rain on my coat. "And I'm going to take everything you love to get it."
"You're assaulting me!" Richard yelled, looking frantically toward the door. "Grant! Call security! Get him off me!"
Grant stood by the door, his hand hovering over his phone.
He looked at Richard, pinned against the desk.
Then he looked at Maya, crying, holding her abused mother's coat.
Grant slowly lowered his phone.
"I don't work for you anymore, Mr. Bellamy," Grant said quietly.
Richard’s eyes widened in horror. He was completely alone.
I shoved Richard back against the desk and let him go.
"You're going to open the safe, Richard," I commanded.
Richard gasped for air, adjusting his ruined suit. "What safe? There is no safe in here."
I walked over to the bookshelf, reached behind a row of heavy culinary encyclopedias, and pulled a hidden lever.
With a heavy groan, the entire bookshelf swung outward, revealing a solid steel wall safe built directly into the brick.
"The one I installed twenty years ago," I said. "The one you’ve been using to hide the real books."
Richard shook his head, panic completely taking over. "I don't know the combination."
"I do," I said.
I stepped up to the dial.
But as I reached for the steel knob, a loud, urgent pounding came from the heavy green door.
"Mr. Bellamy!" a voice yelled from the hallway. "Mr. Bellamy, are you in there?"
It was one of the servers.
"Help!" Richard screamed toward the door. "Break the door down! They’re holding me hostage!"
"Mr. Bellamy!" the server yelled back, ignoring Richard’s plea. "You need to come out here right now! The police are in the dining room. And they’re looking for a little boy."
May you like
Maya dropped the velvet coat, her face draining of all color.
"Leo," she whispered.
