Chapter 8 - THE 7:00 AM MEETING
At 6:45 AM on Sunday morning, the downtown location of Ember & Stone was quiet. The street outside was bathed in the pale gray light of early morning rain.
I sat at the center table of the empty dining room, wearing my canvas coat, nursing a hot mug of black coffee.
At 6:55 AM, the heavy front doors unlocked.
Marcus Vance stepped inside, carrying a leather briefcase, wearing a tailored Italian coat and a Rolex watch that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. Behind him were the general managers of our other three locations: Steve, Rachel, and Alan.
Marcus smiled broadly as he walked toward me, holding out his hand. "David! Great to see you in the field, man! You look... casual as always."
He gave a slight, patronizing smirk at my canvas coat.
I didn't shake his hand. I just pointed to the chairs across from me. "Sit down, everyone."
The four managers sat down, looking around the quiet dining room. Steve, the manager from location two, looked noticeably nervous, his eyes darting toward the closed kitchen doors.
"So," Marcus said, leaning back and resting his leather briefcase on the table. "What's this urgent meeting about, David? You mentioned record profits?"
"I did," I said calmly, taking a sip of coffee. "Location One generated incredible numbers this quarter. Unfortunately, your boy Brent won't be here to celebrate."
Marcus’s smile froze for a split second. "Brent? What do you mean?"
"Brent was arrested last night," I replied evenly. "Handcuffed right here in the lobby in front of sixty guests. He's currently sitting in a county jail cell charged with grand larceny."
Marcus’s face went stiff, his eyes narrowing. "Arrested? On what grounds? Brent is a great manager!"
"He embezzled eighty-six thousand dollars," I said, sliding a thick folder across the mahogany wood. "And when he called the police to remove a 'vagrant' from the lobby last night, he didn't realize the vagrant was the man who owns the building."
The three other managers gasped.
Marcus stared at the folder, sweat suddenly glistening along his hairline. "David... look, if Brent was stealing, I had no idea! I trusted him! I'll order a full internal investigation right now—"
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"Save it, Marcus," I interrupted, tossing a second, much thicker folder onto the table. "That folder contains the forensic audit of Vance Logistics LLC. The shell company you set up to bill my business $1.2 million for fake linen services."
Marcus’s mouth went completely dry. He stared at the documents, his chest heaving as the color drained entirely from his face.
