Chapter 2 - SEVENTY-SEVEN DAYSEmily Carter was scrubbing champagne from a ballroom floor when Vincent Kane walked in holding her daughter’s hand.
The second guard assumed she belonged to one of the wealthy families attending the luncheon.
By the time anyone realized the four-year-old girl in the faded yellow sneakers was completely alone, she had already walked past seven armed men and stepped onto the private terrace where Vincent Kane was having lunch.
People in Chicago knew Vincent Kane for different reasons.
Business reporters called him a billionaire logistics investor.
Politicians called him when they needed money.
Men who owed him favors usually called him sir.
But in quieter conversations, people used another description.
The most feared man in Chicago.
Vincent sat beneath a white umbrella overlooking the Chicago River, a black coffee untouched beside him. Three executives were discussing a warehouse acquisition when a tiny voice interrupted them.
“Are you Mr. Kane?”
Conversation stopped.
Vincent turned.
The little girl stood ten feet away, clutching a folded piece of paper with both hands.
She wore denim overalls over a pink shirt. Her blond hair had been pulled into two uneven ponytails, one already falling loose. There was a purple marker stain on her thumb.
Behind her, security chief Marcus Hale appeared at a run.
“Mr. Kane, I apologize. We don’t know how she—”
Vincent lifted one hand.
Marcus stopped.
Vincent looked at the child.
“What’s your name?”
“Rory.”
“How old are you, Rory?”
She held up four fingers.
Then, after thinking about it, she added, “Four and a half.”
One of the executives smiled.
Rory didn’t.
She stepped closer.
“My mommy says you’re the only man Mr. Sterling is scared of.”
Across the terrace, David Sterling’s smile disappeared.
David had arrived fifteen minutes earlier in a brand-new silver Porsche and made sure everyone noticed.
He owned Sterling Hospitality Group, which operated restaurants, event venues, and luxury catering services throughout the city.
He was also there to persuade Vincent Kane to invest twenty million dollars into his expansion.
Until thirty seconds ago, David had been laughing loudly enough for the entire terrace to hear him.
Now he wasn’t laughing.
Vincent noticed.
“Which Mr. Sterling?” he asked.
Rory pointed.
At David.
Every head turned.
David forced a chuckle.
“Oh, come on. This is obviously some misunderstanding.”
Rory frowned.
“You know my mommy.”
“I employ hundreds of people.”
“My mommy’s name is Emily Carter.”
Something flickered in David’s eyes.
Gone almost instantly.
But Vincent saw it.
Rory walked toward his table and carefully unfolded her paper.
It was covered in handwritten numbers.
Dates.
Hours.
Tiny notes.
And dozens of purple stars.
Vincent took it.
At the top, written neatly in blue ink, were the words:
EMILY CARTER — HOURS WORKED
Below that were seventy-seven dates.
Some had eight-hour shifts.
Some twelve.
Some fourteen.
Next to many of them, someone had drawn a purple star.
Vincent crouched so he was closer to Rory’s height.
“What do the stars mean?”
Rory answered without hesitation.
“Those are the nights Mommy didn’t eat dinner.”
Silence.
Even David stopped pretending to smile.
Rory pointed at one star.
“That one was Tuesday.”
Another.
“That was when Mommy told me she already ate at work, but she didn’t.”
Her tiny finger moved down the page.
“And that one was when she put water in her soup because there wasn’t enough.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
That was what made it frightening.
“What happened to her paychecks?”
Rory looked confused.
“She doesn’t have them.”
David stood.
“This is ridiculous.”
Vincent didn’t look at him.
“Sit down.”
Two words.
David sat.
Rory continued.
“Mommy keeps asking Mr. Sterling. He says next Friday.”
“How many Fridays?”
Rory considered the question seriously.
“A lot.”
Vincent studied the paper again.
Seventy-seven days.
The numbers weren’t random.
Emily had documented every shift.
Clock-in times.
Clock-out times.
Events worked.
Tips allegedly collected.
Promises made.
One note read:
David says payroll issue. Friday.
Another:
Asked again. Told not to cause trouble.
A third:
Worked private event. 14 hrs. No clock-in allowed.
Vincent looked up.
David was sweating.
And the temperature was sixty-eight degrees.
“You have an employee who worked seventy-seven days without being paid?”
David spread his hands.
“You know how disgruntled workers are. They make records. Invent stories. She probably stole tips or—”
“Mommy doesn’t steal!”
Rory shouted it so suddenly that everyone froze.
Her lower lip trembled.
“She found five dollars under a table and gave it back.”
David stared at her.
Vincent stood.
Slowly.
Rory reached into her pocket.
“There’s more.”
She produced a small pink voice recorder.
“My mommy records things because Mr. Sterling says she remembers wrong.”
David’s face drained of color.
Vincent took the recorder.
“Rory.”
“Yes?”
“Does your mother know you’re here?”
Her brave expression collapsed.
“No.”
“Where is she?”
“At work.”
David whispered, “Impossible.”
Rory looked directly at him.
“She’s cleaning your party room.”
Vincent checked his watch.
Then he looked across the terrace at the silver Porsche gleaming beside the valet station.
“How much was the car, David?”
David said nothing.
Vincent repeated the question.
“Two hundred and eighty thousand,” David finally muttered.
Vincent looked at Rory’s purple stars.
Then back at him.
“You had enough money for that.”
Nobody moved.
Vincent handed the paper to Marcus.
“Copy every page. Do not lose the original.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then Vincent extended his hand toward Rory.
Her tiny hand disappeared inside his.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“We’re going to find your mother.”
David stood suddenly.
“Vincent, you’re making a mistake.”
Vincent stopped.
For the first time since Rory arrived, he looked directly at the businessman.
“No, David.”
His voice was almost calm.
“I think you did.”
May you like
Behind them, seven armed guards quietly closed the gates.
And beside his brand-new Porsche, David Sterling finally understood why nobody was laughing anymore.
Related Stories
