Story code: ST-000475
Part 2: The Price of Loyalty
“Mr. Rossi? Are you still on the line?” the representative’s voice buzzed from the phone’s tiny speaker, sharp and impatient.
Leo’s thumb pressed hard against the red button. The screen went black, cutting off his only legitimate lifeline to saving the restaurant. He slowly set the phone down next to the manila folder on the bar.
Bryce chuckled, a dry, scraping sound in the empty room. “Smart move, boss. Wouldn’t want Coastal Mutual hearing about your side hustle in the seafood black market.”
“I didn’t authorize them to sell anything,” Leo said, keeping his voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through his chest. “I didn’t even know they took those crates.”
“Does it matter?” Bryce tilted his head, his smirk widening. “The police won’t care. The insurance fraud investigator definitely won’t care. It is your restaurant, your inventory, your claim. And Mateo and Luis? Well, we both know Immigration won’t ask too many questions before putting them on a bus. They are gone, and you are in handcuffs.”
Leo gripped the edge of the oak bar, his knuckles turning white. The wood was cold under his calloused hands. “I don’t have twenty thousand dollars, Bryce. You worked the register. You saw the receipts. The storm wiped out everything, and the bank accounts are empty.”
“Your business accounts are empty,” Bryce corrected, stepping closer. He smelled faintly of expensive cologne, a stark contrast to the mildew and sea salt permeating the ruined dining room. “But I have a pretty good memory, Leo. Remember last month? Before the hurricane? You were sitting right at this bar, having a beer with Mateo, bragging about your daughter.”
Leo’s stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out along his neckline.
“Maya, right?” Bryce tapped his chin in mock thought. “Heading to state college next fall. You were so proud that you finally crossed the twenty-thousand-dollar mark in her 529 savings plan. You told Mateo it was the one thing you would never touch, no matter how bad business got.”
“Keep her name out of your mouth,” Leo warned, stepping out from behind the bar. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his chest inches from Bryce’s leather jacket. He wanted to wrap his hands around the kid’s throat. He wanted to drive him backward into the stacked mahogany chairs.
Bryce did not flinch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone, tapping the screen to wake it. “Go ahead. Hit me. But just so you know, I scheduled an encrypted email to send to the local precinct, Immigration, and Coastal Mutual’s fraud department. If I do not log in and cancel it by five o’clock today, all these photos, plus a nice detailed written statement, go out to everyone.”
Leo froze. His fists remained clenched at his sides. The ticking clock in his head suddenly sped up. He had thought he had until tomorrow.
“Five o’clock,” Bryce repeated, reading the realization on Leo’s face. “I changed my mind about tomorrow night. The bank closes at five. Wire the money to the offshore account listed on the back of that folder, or your whole life burns down before dinner time.”
Before Leo could formulate a response, the heavy metal hinges of the kitchen’s back door shrieked.
Footsteps echoed through the tiled kitchen, followed by the clatter of a metal push broom being dragged against the floor. “Boss?” a voice called out. “Leo? I brought some extra heavy-duty trash bags.”
Luis stepped through the swinging double doors into the dining room. He was dressed in a worn t-shirt and paint-splattered jeans, his dark eyes scanning the room until they landed on Leo and Bryce. Luis halted, his grip tightening on the broom handle. He recognized the young bartender instantly, and the tension in the room was impossible to miss.
“Everything okay, Leo?” Luis asked, his accent thick, his gaze darting warily between the two men.
Leo swallowed the lump of panic lodged in his throat. Luis had a wife who worked night shifts at a motel and a toddler who had just learned to walk. The man was here, on his day off, offering free labor to help clear debris from a restaurant that could not even pay him his last week’s wages. If Bryce hit send, Luis’s life would be destroyed in a matter of hours.
“Everything is fine, Luis,” Leo forced the words out, his voice sounding hollow and foreign to his own ears. “Bryce was just leaving.”
Bryce turned to Luis, offering a bright, entirely fake smile. “Just dropping off some important paperwork for the boss, Luis. Make sure he takes good care of it.” Bryce patted the manila folder sitting on the bar, then looked back at Leo. “Five o’clock sharp, Leo. Do not be late.”
Bryce turned and walked out the front door, his heavy boots crunching over the broken glass once more. The door swung shut, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in his wake.
Luis walked forward slowly, resting the broom against a table. “Why is he here? You fired him for stealing.”
“He… he left some things in his locker,” Leo lied, unable to meet Luis’s earnest, trusting eyes. “I just gave them back to him.”
“Oh,” Luis said softly, though he still looked suspicious. He pulled a roll of thick black trash bags from his back pocket. “I can start on the skylight glass in the center of the room. Mateo will be here in an hour with some plywood he found.”
“Thank you, Luis,” Leo murmured. “I need to… I need to go to the office for a minute. Make a call.”
Leo turned his back on the loyal line cook and walked into his cramped, windowless back office. He shut the door softly and locked it. The room was stiflingly hot, the power still out from the storm, but Leo barely registered the temperature.
He sat heavily in his desk chair, pulling his laptop from its case. He powered it on, the battery icon flashing red in the corner of the screen. He opened his browser and navigated to the bank’s portal, his hands trembling over the keyboard.
He typed in his password and clicked on the summary page. There it was. *Maya Rossi Educational Trust – Available Balance: $20,340.50.*
It had taken him ten years to save that money. Ten years of working eighty-hour weeks, missing school plays, and skipping family vacations, all to ensure Maya would not start her adult life buried in student debt. It was his promise to his daughter, the only untainted thing left in his crumbling financial life.
Through the thin drywall, he could hear the rhythmic swish and scrape of Luis sweeping up the shattered glass, working tirelessly to save a restaurant that was already doomed.
Leo clicked the Transfer Funds tab, a sickening wave of nausea washing over him as the digital clock in the corner of his screen ticked closer to five.