Chapter 6 - The Burned Ledger
That evening, Ethan finally gave me Daniel's old locker key.
“I found it after everyone left,” he whispered.
Inside the locker was almost nothing.
A pair of worn kitchen shoes.
A folded photograph.
And a notebook with several pages burned away.
I opened the photograph first.
Daniel stood outside Maison Dubois with six kitchen employees.
One of them was Ethan.
The other faces were unfamiliar.
I turned the photograph over.
Daniel had written:
“Ask who benefits.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I opened the notebook.
Most pages were damaged.
But a few numbers survived.
Delivery dates.
Supplier codes.
And one recurring abbreviation:
B.D.
Beatrice Dubois.
I thought I had finally found the proof.
Then I noticed something.
The initials appeared on the pages marked as rejected invoices.
Not approved invoices.
Rejected ones.
I called Marco.
“Beatrice may not be the person ordering the illegal deliveries.”
“What?”
“She rejected several of them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is her name everywhere?”
“I don't know.”
That was the problem.
The evidence against Beatrice was beginning to contradict itself.
She had assaulted me.
She had hidden the second ledger.
She had fired employees.
But she may not have been responsible for the underlying scheme.
The next morning, Beatrice called me into her office.
She closed the door.
“You think I'm the villain.”
“I think you know more than you're saying.”
Her face tightened.
“You have no idea what happens when you challenge the people who own this place.”
“Then tell me.”
She stared at me.
For the first time, the arrogance disappeared.
“I didn't hire you.”
“I know.”
“You were brought here by someone else.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
She looked toward the locked filing cabinet.
“I don't know his name.”
“Then what do you know?”
“He told me if I stopped cooperating, the restaurant would close.”
“Cooperating with what?”
She whispered:
“Something that started long before you arrived.”
Then she opened the cabinet.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it.
But the handwriting wasn't Beatrice's.
She pushed it toward me.
“Take it.”
I didn't move.
“What is it?”
Her eyes filled with something close to fear.
May you like
“The reason they chose you.”
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