CHAPTER FOUR — ROSA’S KNIFE
Ethan went home to an apartment above a locksmith shop and found his sister Dani studying at the kitchen table.
She was seventeen, and the sleeves of her sweatshirt were rolled over fingers stained with highlighter ink.
“You’re early,” she said.
“I got fired.”
Dani lowered her textbook.
Ethan told her about the stew, Walter, the call, and the unpaid trainees.
He expected her to be impressed by his decision.
Instead, she opened their banking app and showed him the rent reminder.
“That was brave,” she said.
“It was also expensive.”
He sat opposite her, unable to argue.
Their mother had moved to a long-term rehabilitation facility after an accident the previous spring.
The apartment was theirs as long as Ethan kept the bills paid.
Dani took weekend shifts at a bookstore,
but most of her income disappeared into transportation and school supplies.
“I’ll find something,” he promised.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
She watched him long enough to make clear she was not satisfied.
Then she pushed a plate of reheated pasta across the table.
“Eat first,” she said.
The next morning, Rosa called him before eight.
She had worked the grill at Victor’s restaurant for eleven years and rarely sounded frightened.
“He has the kids starting at six,” she said.
“Miriam said they were off the schedule.”
“He’s calling them volunteers now.”
Ethan stood so quickly that his chair scraped the floor.
“Did Lacey go back?”
“She doesn’t want to lose her placement.”
“And Nico?”
“He’s already here.”
Rosa lowered her voice.
“Victor told them you were a thief.”
Ethan felt his stomach drop.
“What?”
“He says you gave away meals and took cash from the register.”
“He can check the drawer.”
“He’s the one who counts it.”
Rosa went silent as a door opened somewhere behind her.
“Listen,” she whispered, “he’s preparing the private banquet out of the community center’s ingredients.”
“How do you know?”
“There are labels on the crates, Ethan.”
“Take pictures.”
“I already did.”
The line went dead.
Ethan called Miriam, who said she was meeting the apprenticeship director at nine.
“I want to come,” he said.
“You can,” she answered, “but bring your own notes about what you saw.”
He wrote down the lunch service, the dismissal, and the trainees’ names on the back of a grocery receipt.
Then he tore out a fresh sheet and started again because the first account sounded like anger rather than evidence.
He listed times, rooms, and people who could confirm events.
At nine twenty, he entered the training center, a converted library branch with stainless-steel counters where bookshelves had once stood.
Miriam introduced him to director Saira Benton and a man named Amos who handled the program’s payroll.
A dozen empty stools faced a demonstration stove.
On one wall hung photographs of former apprentices working in hospitals, school cafeterias, and small bakeries.
Ethan noticed that many of the faces looked as tired and young as his own.
Saira asked him to speak without assuming he knew anyone’s motives.
He described exactly what Victor had done.
When he reached the stew, Saira stopped him.
“Was the food already served?”
“No.”
“Had anyone authorized its disposal?”
“Victor told Rosa to empty the steam table after lunch.”
“Could you have charged the man?”
“He had no money.”
“I’m asking because Victor reported you stole a meal from paying inventory.”
Ethan clenched his fists under the table.
“I offered to pay for it.”
“Did he let you?”
“No.”
Amos set a sheet of paper beside him.
“The wage grant paid Victor’s business for instructional hours,” he said.
“Our records show the apprentices received stipends.”
“They didn’t,” Ethan replied.
Amos looked miserable.
“That’s why we need to ask them.”
Saira stood and opened the doors to the training kitchen.
“We’re going to run Saturday’s graduation dinner ourselves if we must,” she said.
“But first we need to know where our students are and what they have learned.”
