Story code: ST-001263
Part 2: The Borrowed Blame
Before Sarah could press the issue, the heavy double doors of the kitchen swung open, and Victor stepped into the space. Dressed in a crisp blue button-down shirt that stood out sharply against the grease-stained walls and the stainless steel prep tables, he did not touch any of the equipment. He stopped near the exit sign, his eyes immediately landing on the tablet held tightly in his nephew’s hands, then shifting to Sarah.
‘Is there a diagnostic issue here, Sarah?’ Victor asked, his voice smooth and professional, though his fingers tapped a rapid, impatient pattern against his thigh. ‘Leo is simply executing the security parameters I established for the corporate account. Surely your team isn’t trying to interfere with proprietary system updates that keep this kitchen operational.’
Sarah turned to face him, keeping her distance by the prep counter. ‘Leo just said the system is locked for a diversion protocol. That isn’t a standard update, Victor. The local routing is completely dark, and our payouts for the last three hours aren’t showing on the secondary monitor in the office. The drivers are stacking up outside because we can’t release the orders without the digital receipts.’
Victor smiled, a brief movement of his lips that did not reach his eyes. ‘Leo is young, but he is executing the instructions perfectly. He doesn’t need to explain the technical architecture to the kitchen staff. Your job is to manage the line, Sarah, not to audit the administrative software that my capital funded. We established this partnership with clear divisions of responsibility.’
‘If the software is redirecting our local order flow, it affects the whole kitchen,’ Sarah said, her voice remaining steady. She pointed toward the blank ticket printer. ‘Marcus has three orders on the screen that just vanished. If Leo can’t explain what the instruction actually means, why is he holding the hardware? If he’s managing the tablet, he needs to know how to resolve a routing lockout so we can feed the customers.’
Victor stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking on the quarry tile. He gestured toward the tablet, though he kept his hands clear of the greasy counter. ‘The instruction is standard restructuring compliance. We are optimizing the regional delivery footprint. If your kitchen cannot maintain operational pace during a simple system transition, that speaks to a management failure on your part, not a software error. I won’t have my investment compromised by staff panic.’
Sarah watched Victor’s reflection in the stainless steel backsplash. ‘If it’s just a transition, tell Leo to unlock the screen so we can see the destination routing path. If the destination is still our shared business account, there’s no reason to hide the display from the kitchen’s co-owner.’
Leo looked down at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen, but Victor caught his eye and shook his head slightly. Leo’s grip on the tablet tightened, his knuckles turning white as he pulled it closer to his chest, his eyes darting between his uncle and the door.
Marcus took a step forward from the prep station, his arms crossed over his apron. He did not say a word, but his eyes remained fixed on Victor. Two other line cooks stopped wiping down the line, their towels resting on the stainless steel tables. The silence in the room deepened, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the ventilation hood and the soft, repetitive tap of Leo’s fingers against the plastic casing of the tablet as he waited for his uncle to finish speaking. The delivery drivers outside began to knock on the glass of the pickup window, their silhouettes dark against the streetlights, their reflections casting long, distorted shadows across the kitchen floor.