Chapter 20 - THE LAST PURPLE STAR
Eighteen months later, I turned six.
And the half still mattered.
The People’s Table closed for two hours that afternoon.
Not because business was bad.
Because Mom was throwing me a birthday party.
There were balloons tied to every chair.
Walter brought a ridiculous hat.
Tina made too much lemonade.
Elena arrived carrying a calculator-shaped birthday card.
Angela brought a stack of legal pads because she said every terrifying six-year-old needed office supplies.
Detective Monroe stopped by in uniform.
Vincent came last.
The restaurant became quieter when he entered.
It always did.
Some things never changed.
But now I knew something the adults at his old back table had forgotten.
Being feared was not the same as being right.
Vincent handed me a small box.
Mom immediately said.
“If that’s expensive, she isn’t keeping it.”
“It cost three dollars.”
I opened it.
Inside was a red marker.
Purple would have been better.
Vincent apparently knew that.
A purple one was underneath.
I smiled.
“What’s this for?”
He pointed toward the wall.
Mom had framed her original work log.
Seventy-seven days.
$5,430.30.
And all my purple stars.
Beside it was a new sign.
NO EMPLOYEE OF THIS RESTAURANT WILL EVER HAVE TO BEG FOR MONEY THEY ALREADY EARNED.
Below it were twenty-three signatures.
The workers who stood together that first afternoon.
There was one empty space at the bottom.
Vincent handed me the marker.
“That one is yours.”
Mom smiled.
I drew a star.
A giant one.
Crooked.
Purple.
Perfect.
Then everybody sang happy birthday.
I ate two pieces of cake.
Mom said one.
Walter gave me the second when she wasn’t looking.
After dinner, Mom and I walked home.
The city lights reflected against wet pavement.
We passed a dealership.
A bright red Porsche sat behind the glass.
I stopped.
Mom followed my eyes.
“You like it?”
I shook my head.
“Too red.”
She laughed.
We kept walking.
After a block, I asked.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Was Vincent really the most dangerous man in Chicago?”
She thought about it.
“Maybe.”
“Is he still?”
Mom squeezed my hand.
“I think dangerous means different things depending on who you are.”
I looked up at her.
“What was David?”
She was quiet for several steps.
Then she answered.
“A man who thought nobody smaller than him mattered.”
I considered that.
“But I was smaller.”
Mom smiled.
“You were four and a half.”
“The half mattered.”
“The half definitely mattered.”
We reached our building.
Before going inside, Mom looked toward the sky.
Sometimes she still talked to Dad when she thought nobody noticed.
That night she didn’t whisper.
“We’re okay, Daniel.”
Her voice cracked.
“We’re finally okay.”
I squeezed her hand.
She looked down at me.
“What?”
“I think Daddy knows.”
Mom smiled through tears.
Then she unlocked the door.
Our refrigerator was full.
The rent was paid.
The lights were on.
And taped beside the kitchen table was the last paycheck David Sterling had ever refused to give my mother.
It had eventually arrived through the restitution fund.
$5,430.30.
Mom never cashed the copy she framed.
Underneath it, she had written one sentence.
RORY ASKED THE QUESTION I WAS TOO AFRAID TO ASK.
Years later, people would tell the story differently.
Some said Vincent Kane destroyed David Sterling.
Some said the police did.
Some said the lawyers did.
Some said Daniel’s evidence did.
They were all wrong.
David Sterling destroyed himself every time he looked at a frightened employee and decided fear was the same thing as obedience.
All I did was carry a folded piece of paper across a restaurant.
I walked past seven men.
Not six.
Seven.
I put Mom’s work log on the table.
And I asked the man everybody feared why nobody had made David Sterling pay her.
It turned out the answer was simple.
Nobody had asked loudly enough yet.
So I did.
And after seventy-seven unpaid days, eleven hungry weeks, one red Porsche, twenty-three stolen paychecks, five years of buried truth, and one little girl with a purple marker...
David Sterling finally paid everyone.
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THE END.
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