Chapter 12 - THE PEOPLE’S TABLE
They named it The People’s Table.
Mom hated the name.
Tina loved it.
Walter said anything was better than Sterling’s Bistro.
Vincent offered six months without rent.
Mom refused.
He offered three.
She refused again.
They settled on one month and a reduced rate afterward.
“You negotiate like a criminal,” Vincent told her.
Mom stared at him.
“You would know.”
He smiled.
A little.
The restaurant reopened nine days later.
There was no Porsche outside.
No velvet rope.
No expensive bottles placed where customers could see them.
There was a handwritten sign near the door.
EVERY HOUR WORKED WILL BE PAID.
Walter insisted on hanging it.
Customers came because they had heard the story.
Some came because of Vincent.
Most came because Chicago loved watching an arrogant man lose a restaurant.
The first day, there was a line around the block.
Mom worked twelve hours.
This time, she wrote herself a paycheck.
She stared at it for nearly a minute.
I drew a purple star on the envelope.
“No.”
Mom laughed.
“Purple stars mean bad nights.”
“Not anymore.”
I added another one.
“They mean we ate dinner.”
Mom kissed my forehead.
That night, Angela called.
The labor department had obtained a temporary order preventing David from moving certain business assets.
The employee claims were now approaching $740,000.
With penalties and unpaid overtime, the number could pass one million.
But the criminal investigation into Dad’s death was harder.
Mason refused to talk.
David denied everything.
Crowe’s photographs proved they were present.
They did not prove who caused the crash.
Then Mason disappeared.
He failed to report for a scheduled interview.
His apartment had been emptied.
Vincent took that personally.
Mom did not care.
“Let the police find him.”
“They will.”
“Then stay out of it.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I am staying out of it.”
Mom raised an eyebrow.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
At that exact moment, one of Vincent’s men entered.
“We found Mason.”
Mom stared at Vincent.
Vincent sighed.
“That sounds worse than it is.”
Mason had not been captured.
He had been seen.
At Union Station.
Buying a ticket under another name.
Police reached the platform two minutes too late.
But security footage showed something important.
Mason was not alone.
David Sterling stood beside him.
They boarded different trains.
Before separating, David handed Mason a small black bag.
Detectives traced David’s destination.
New York.
Mason’s ticket went to Milwaukee.
But neither man reached his destination.
David got off in Indiana.
Mason left his train in northern Illinois.
They were trying to confuse whoever followed them.
Then another security camera recorded David entering a storage facility near Gary.
Detective Monroe called Mom at 2:13 a.m.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“A vehicle.”
Mom sat upright.
“What vehicle?”
The detective took a breath.
“A black SUV.”
“The front end was repaired five years ago.”
“And the original damaged bumper is still inside the storage unit.”
Mom closed her eyes.
May you like
For the first time, the crash that killed my father was no longer just a story people could deny.
It had evidence.
