Chapter 16 - The Missing Hours
The wage records were not simple. Some showed canceled shifts. Others showed employees sent home early, or crews finishing work after the clock said they had stopped. Denise and the investigators needed time to separate mistakes from patterns.
Camila brought a notebook filled with names and dates. She had called coworkers who agreed to speak privately. Nobody demanded that she become the face of a campaign. I offered her coffee and a quiet table.
"I used to think if I worked hard enough, they'd have to respect me," she said.
"I used to think that too."
"They told me cleaners were replaceable. Like the floors could wash themselves."
I remembered Mom coming home with swollen hands, and Lauren making it into a joke.
The next day, an independent payroll specialist retained by Denise identified discrepancies that warranted further examination. The records suggested more than sixty workers might have been affected. The exact amount would need formal verification. Glasshouse's lawyers disputed the claims, but Harborstone had enough concern to begin an independent audit of its existing subcontracted shifts.
My restaurant wasn't part of that audit. We were merely the place where the first crack had become visible.
That afternoon, a city health inspector arrived after an anonymous complaint alleged dangerous conditions in our kitchen. Becca looked ready to explode.
"Let them do their job," I said. "We have nothing to hide."
The inspection took two hours. Our records were current, and the inspector found no basis for the alarming complaint.
When she left, I exhaled for what felt like the first time that week.
Leah called minutes later. "Good news: the inspector's report is straightforward. Bad news: Lauren's lawyer has delivered another proposal."
May you like
"What does she want now?"
"She'll withdraw her claims and pay you two hundred fifty thousand dollars," Leah said, "if you promise never to discuss Glasshouse, its workers, or the bid again."
