Chapter 2 - What Twenty Dollars Could Buy
Vincent took the advertisement carefully.
The paper was soft along its folds, as though Emma had opened it many times.
“These are for your mother?”
Emma nodded.
“Her other ones got holes.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“I saw.”
Across the laundry room, Rachel laughed quietly at something Mrs. Dempsey said. The sound surprised him. He could not remember hearing it before.
Emma studied the picture.
“She walks me to Miss June’s. Her fingers get red.”
Miss June ran a neighborhood childcare program. Vincent had seen the name in Rachel’s employment documents, one of a hundred details he had signed without reading closely.
“Why does your mother walk?”
“Bus costs money.”
The answer was delivered without self-pity. Emma had no idea that it should disturb him.
Vincent returned the advertisement.
“You should speak with your mother about the store.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I understand. But she decides where you go.”
Emma considered this unfair limitation on commerce.
Then she sighed.
“Grown-ups take forever.”
When Rachel approached, Vincent waited until Emma had gone to show Mrs. Dempsey her money.
“May I speak with you?”
The small amount of color left her face.
“Did she ask for something else?”
“She asked about buying you a Christmas present.”
Rachel looked toward her daughter.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she pressed her lips together.
“I told her my hands were fine.”
“Children seem particularly suspicious of that word.”
Rachel glanced at him, startled by the gentleness.
“I appreciate your concern,” she said. “But I can buy my own gloves.”
“I believe you.”
“Then please don’t turn this into something everyone discusses.”
He looked down at the advertisement still creased in his memory.
He had already imagined sending Grant to purchase the finest gloves available, perhaps a dozen pairs.
Now he understood how easily generosity could become another way of taking control.
“What would help?” he asked.
Rachel’s expression shifted.
It was the first question she had not expected.
“Fixing the press helps.”
“That’s being done.”
“And having my full paycheck would help more.”
Vincent’s gaze sharpened.
“What does that mean?”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Bell said you approved the deductions.”
“What deductions?”
For a moment, the laundry seemed strangely silent.
Rachel retrieved her phone. She opened a payroll statement and handed it to him.
There were charges for staff childcare, transportation, uniform replacement, and temporary family accommodation.
Vincent read the total twice.
Four hundred and eighty dollars had disappeared from her last two-week paycheck.
“The guest apartment is part of your compensation,” he said.
“That’s what my contract said.”
“And the staff shuttle is free.”
“I know what the handbook says.”
He heard the unspoken addition.
I also know what happens when employees argue.
“Has Martin shown you anything authorizing these charges?”
“A revised policy. He said everybody signed.”
“Did you?”
“I signed that I received it. He said refusing would count as resignation.”
Vincent handed back her phone.
“I would like copies. Only if you’re comfortable providing them.”
Rachel studied him.
“You really didn’t know?”
“No.”
The answer tasted worse than a confession.
Because not knowing had been convenient.
That night, Grant reviewed payroll with an independent accountant Vincent had used for business audits.
They found eleven employees paying fees that did not appear in their contracts.
Some deductions reached back almost a year.
The money had been routed through a vendor called Northstar Staff Services.
Grant laid a corporate registration on Vincent’s desk.
“Martin’s brother-in-law owns it.”
Vincent stared at the name.
Martin had managed the household for thirteen years. He knew which doors remained unlocked, which staff members were afraid of losing housing, and which documents Vincent rarely read.
“Preserve the records,” Vincent said. “Quietly.”
Grant nodded.
“And Rachel?”
“She receives the wages she earned.”
“We should calculate the full amount first.”
“Then calculate quickly.”
At seven the next morning, Martin Bell entered the dining room carrying a leather folder.
“I understand Mrs. Carter has been making allegations.”
Vincent did not invite him to sit.
“I understand you’ve been charging her for benefits already included in her employment.”
Martin’s expression barely moved.
“Administrative adjustments.”
“Show me the authorization.”
“I’d need to retrieve—”
“Do that.”
Martin glanced toward Grant.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face.
Then he placed the leather folder on the table.
“There is another issue you should see before trusting her judgment.”
Inside was a background report.
May you like
Across the top, beside Rachel Carter’s name, someone had stamped two words in red.
SUSPECTED THEFT.
