Chapter 4 - The New Management
The next morning, the neon sign above the bistro flickered on, but the name on the awning had already been scrubbed clean.
Clara Carter stood inside the front entrance, wearing a crisp, professional blazer instead of her old stained apron, holding a clipboard in her hands. The entire kitchen staff stood before her—not cowering in fear of David Sterling’s temper, but looking at her with genuine respect. They had all suffered under David’s tyrannical management; many of them had gone unpaid or underpaid for weeks.
"Starting today," Clara announced, her voice ringing clear and steady through the dining room, "everyone is getting a thirty percent pay raise. Any back wages owed from the previous administration will be paid out of the escrow account established by Mr. Kane."
A cheer went up through the kitchen staff, and several older cooks wiped tears from their eyes.
Across the room, sitting at the corner table by the window, Rory was busy coloring in a fresh coloring book, using every single shade of purple she possessed.
Vincent Kane sat across from her, quietly sipping his black coffee.
"Are you going to work here every day now, Mr. Kane?" Rory asked, looking up from her crayon drawing.
"Not every day, Rory," Vincent replied, a faint smile touching his lips. "I have other business to attend to. But I promised your mother I’d make sure nobody ever tears up a work log in this building again."
"Good," Rory nodded wisely, sliding a purple crayon across the table toward him. "Because if they do, I'll walk past seven more guards."
Vincent chuckled, picking up the purple crayon and turning it over in his hand. "I have no doubt about that, young lady. Not a single doubt."
The bell above the front door chimed, and a line of prospective customers—attracted by the rumors of new management and legendary food—began to file into the bistro. Clara stepped forward to greet them with a bright, confident smile, her shoulders unburdened by the crushing weight of poverty for the first time in years.
Outside, parked across the street, a sleek black sedan idled quietly in the shadows. Vincent’s head of security, a hulking man named Thorne, leaned over the passenger seat to speak to the driver.
"Keep an eye on the block," Thorne muttered. "Vance and Sterling are trying to pool money together for a retaliatory lawsuit. They think they can outlast us in court."
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Vincent, sitting in the back seat as his car pulled away from the curb, looked out the tinted window at the bistro where Clara and Rory were building a new life. He didn't look worried.
"Let them file their lawsuits," Vincent said softly, his voice cutting like glass. "Let's see how many judges want to explain why they're defending a man who made a four-year-old sleep in the mud of his own greed."
