Chapter 9 - The Price of Silence
Her sister's name was Camila Torres. She cleaned hotel kitchens after midnight, on shifts scheduled through Glasshouse. In the photograph she'd sent me, rain darkened her uniform and she stood outside a side entrance while a supervisor counted workers through a loading gate.
"Why did she contact me?" I asked.
"She saw your restaurant listed as a reference. She knew you hadn't hired Glasshouse because she used to work here on weekends," Tessa said.
I remembered Camila: a quiet young woman who had taken shifts with us during culinary school. She'd left to support her younger brother and promised to return for dinner someday.
"She says Glasshouse makes people clock out before they finish cleaning," Tessa continued. "They threaten to stop assigning shifts if anyone complains. Camila copied her pay records because she thought a big hotel company would listen."
"Has she reported it?"
"She sent a complaint. Her next three shifts disappeared."
Leah joined us by video call. She asked Tessa to keep the original recording, including the phone's metadata, and not to post it. She also gave us the name of an employment attorney who could speak privately with Camila.
Tessa swallowed. "Lauren told me there'd be consequences for my family. I thought she just meant the job."
"What else?" I asked.
She hesitated, then pulled an envelope from her coat. Inside were copies of payroll summaries and an unsigned settlement agreement.
"Someone slid this under our apartment door last night. They want Camila to sign away every complaint for two thousand dollars."
Leah took a long breath. "Don't sign anything. Have an independent lawyer review it."
Tessa folded her arms tightly. "There was a note with it."
May you like
She showed me a photograph of a single line written in thick blue marker.
YOUR MOTHER STILL WORKS NIGHTS, DOESN'T SHE?
