CHAPTER TWO — NAMES ON A SHIFT BOARD

Marissa reached her apartment before three.
She found her mother sitting at the kitchen table with an envelope from the insurance company.
Elena wore a faded red cardigan even though the windows were open.
“You’re home early,” Elena said.
Marissa set her keys down.
“Calvin fired me.”
Elena closed the envelope without reading another line.
“Tell me what happened.”
Marissa did, slowly at first and then in a rush.
She described Walter’s empty stomach, the plate, and the way the whole dining room had watched her lose her job.
Elena listened without interrupting.
“Would you do it again?” she asked when Marissa finished.
Marissa considered the unpaid prescription.
“I’d do the food part again.”
“And the other part?”
“I’d make sure the manager couldn’t turn it into a spectacle.”
Elena nodded.
“That’s a practical answer.”
Marissa took the insurance envelope.
Its language was filled with percentages and phrases that disguised the simple fact that their share had increased.
She set it down before resentment could swallow her afternoon.
“I met a man who says he might buy the restaurant.”
“Did he offer you a job?”
“No.”
“Did you ask for one?”
“No.”
Elena looked surprised.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want my job to depend on whether he feels heroic next Tuesday.”

Meanwhile, Ethan had returned to his office in a converted warehouse overlooking the river.
His assistant, Priya Desai, was waiting with a folder for a meeting he had already missed.
“You were supposed to be at an acquisition review,” she said.
“I found a different acquisition.”
Priya watched him put his phone on the desk.
“Please tell me it isn’t another failing theater.”
“A restaurant.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
“What happened?”
Ethan told her the story without embellishment.
Priya listened through the part where he had announced his intention in front of thirty diners.
Then she took a long, disapproving breath.
“You publicly offered to buy a business before knowing whether it was for sale.”
“That’s an accurate description.”
“Did you consider asking its employees what they need?”
“One of them asked me that first.”
“Good.”
“She also asked about tip distribution.”
Priya’s expression changed.
“Then don’t make another promise until we understand the payroll records.”
Ethan sat down.
“Can we find the owner?”
“Of course.”
“Can we find out whether she’s running the place or whether Calvin is?”
“We can ask.”
“Do that first.”
Priya walked toward the door, then stopped.
“Ethan, if this is about impressing one young waitress, it will end badly.”
“It isn’t.”
“Make sure it stays that way.”

At four, the servers’ group chat erupted.
Jules, the bartender, reported that Calvin had told everyone Marissa had voluntarily walked off her shift.
Niko, a line cook, said the manager had removed her name from the weekend roster before lunch ended.
A dishwasher named Omar sent a photograph of the shift board.
Marissa’s hours had been divided among staff who were already working overtime.
She typed a reply, deleted it, and called Jules instead.
“You don’t have to defend me,” she said when he answered.
“I’m not defending you. I’m telling people what happened.”
“Calvin will retaliate.”
“He already cut my Sunday shift because I asked how the private-party gratuity was divided.”
Marissa leaned against the refrigerator.
“What did he say?”
“He said management distributes everything fairly.”
“He says that whenever he won’t answer a question.”
“There’s something else.”
Jules lowered his voice.
“The owner is coming in tomorrow.”
“Francine?”
“Yes.”
“She hasn’t come in during service for months.”
“Someone important called her.”
Marissa knew who that someone might be.
She also knew a wealthy customer could make things worse with careless enthusiasm.
“Tell everyone not to sign anything without reading it,” she said.
“What would we sign?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s comforting.”
“I didn’t promise comfort.”