The following morning, I arrived at Rosie's before the first customers.
I wanted to check that the restaurant was operating normally while I waited for the next steps in the investigation.
The kitchen lights were already on.
A cook was arranging ingredients along the preparation counter, and the smell of coffee drifted from the dining room.
I passed the hostess station without stopping.
The black device wasn't visible from where I stood.
I didn't approach the counter to search for it.
I had already explained what I had seen, and I didn't want to interfere with anything that might need to be examined.
I went into the office and checked my messages.
There was nothing new.
I opened the notebook instead.
The page describing the elderly customer caught my attention.
I had written very little about her because I hadn't been able to see her clearly.
She had been holding her card.
She had waited patiently.
She had thanked Madison.
Then she had left.
I couldn't even say whether she had been a regular customer.
I had assumed she might be, based on her age and the ease with which she approached the counter, but that was only an impression.
I didn't know her name.
I didn't know which bank issued her card.
I didn't know whether the transaction had been legitimate.
And I had no basis for contacting her directly.
That helplessness bothered me.
I had watched a possible security concern unfold in front of me, yet I hadn't been able to intervene without risking a confrontation that might have disrupted any later examination.
I reminded myself that I had taken the next responsible step.
I had reported what I saw.
I had preserved my notes.
I had sought guidance from the appropriate people.
Now I needed to cooperate with the process rather than invent a role for myself that I couldn't perform properly.
At nine, Kyle came into the office carrying a folder.
He placed it on my desk.
"These are the updated staffing numbers."
I looked through them.
The proposed changes would reduce a few shifts if business continued to decline.
I set the folder down.
"I don't want to make cuts based on a problem we haven't understood yet."
Kyle folded his arms.
"We can't keep paying people when the dining room is half empty."
"I know what the numbers look like."
He glanced at the folder.
"Then we need to do something."
I met his eyes.
"We will. But I want to understand why customers are leaving before we decide which people to cut."
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he nodded.
"All right."
He turned to leave.
I watched him reach the doorway.
"Kyle."
He stopped.
"Has any equipment been added to the payment counter recently?"
His shoulders seemed to stiffen, though the movement was brief.
"What do you mean?"
"Any new readers, accessories, or other electronic equipment?"
He looked at me.
"Not that I know of."
I kept my voice even.
"I want to make sure everything being used for customer payments has been properly approved."
"Of course."
He said it quickly.
Then he left.
I remained seated.
His answer had been vague, but vagueness wasn't evidence of guilt.
He might not have known what equipment had been brought in.
He might have misunderstood the question.
Or he might have been avoiding something.
I couldn't tell.
I wrote down the exchange as accurately as I could remember it.
I included the question, his response, and the fact that he had not identified any new equipment.
I did not write that he had lied.
I had no proof of that.
The distinction felt more important every day.
When I had first seen the device, I had wanted to believe Kyle's reaction meant he knew what it was.
That interpretation had become almost automatic.
But if I let my suspicions determine what every new detail meant, I would stop investigating and start building a story around my anger.
I wasn't going to do that.
Near lunchtime, I went to the kitchen to speak with Luis.
He was preparing food for the midday service.
I waited until he had a moment to step away from the counter.
"Have you noticed anything new?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Has anyone asked you about our conversation?"
He thought for a moment.
"Not directly."
I nodded.
I didn't want him to feel he had to monitor his coworkers for me.
He had told me what he knew.
The rest was my responsibility.
I thanked him and returned to the office.
A little later, Amber came by to drop off a receipt that needed my approval.
She looked toward the dining room before handing it to me.
"Everything all right?"
"I'm still working on it."
She nodded.
"I hope it gets sorted out."
"So do I."
She started to leave, then turned back.
"Frank?"
"Yes?"
"That day you came in, I didn't help you because I thought you were somebody important."
I looked at her.
"I know."
"I mean, I didn't know who you were. I just thought you needed lunch."
She seemed embarrassed to be explaining herself.
I smiled slightly.
"That's exactly why I wanted to thank you."
She looked down at the receipt in my hand.
"I hope you find out what's going on."
Then she returned to work.
I sat with her words for a while.
Amber hadn't helped me because I owned the building.
She had helped me because I was hungry.
That simple decision had shown me something about the restaurant that no financial report could measure.
The business had not lost every part of what my mother had taught me.
Some of it was still there.
But kindness alone couldn't protect customers from a possible security problem.
I needed both.
I needed employees who understood that people deserved dignity.
And I needed a payment system that could be trusted.
By late afternoon, I had reviewed the information available to me as far as I could.
There was still no definitive explanation for the black device.
The records didn't identify it.
The employees who had seen it didn't know its purpose.
Kyle hadn't identified any new equipment when I asked him.
I could have kept asking the same questions.
I could have spent another week hoping someone would volunteer an answer.
But that would not have been enough.
I had already reported the concern, and I intended to follow through.
I organized the documents in a folder.
The first pages contained my account of the incident.
Behind them were the relevant business records and notes about the conversations I had held with Luis and Amber.
I kept the descriptions factual.
I separated what I had personally seen from what other people had told me.
I didn't want anyone reviewing the information to mistake an assumption for an observation.
When I finished, I placed the folder in a secure drawer.
I locked it.
Then I stood and walked to the window.
Outside, the parking lot was filling with cars.
Customers were arriving for lunch.
Some would order soup.
Some would pay by card.
Some would sit beside the windows and talk about ordinary things.
They had every reason to expect that their meals would be uneventful.
I couldn't guarantee that nothing had gone wrong in the past.
I could make sure I didn't ignore a warning about what might be happening now.
The next day would bring more questions.
I would answer them as honestly as I could.
For the moment, that was the only useful thing I could do.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: I Had Trusted Kyle to Run Rosie’s Without Me, but His Answer About the Equipment Left Me More Determined to Find the Truth
I Built My Mother’s Restaurant for Everyone, Until One Quiet Warning Made Me Wonder Who Was Really Welcome Inside
Part 10 of 15
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