Chapter 6 - Uncovering the Rot Within
The transition from desperate waitress to Callaway’s operations manager happened overnight, but earning the respect of Reed’s inner circle took considerably more work.
On my first official morning, Tommy Ritchie dropped a towering stack of financial invoices onto my newly minted mahogany desk in the office adjacent to Reed’s private suite. He crossed his massive arms, eyeing me with a mixture of skepticism and grudging curiosity.
“The boss says you’ve got a head for numbers, kid,” Tommy grunted, leaning against the doorframe. “Let’s see if you can spot what’s been bleeding us dry for the last six months. Half our import shipments from the docks have been short-weighted, but the logistics logs show full delivery.”
Without a word, I opened the ledger, pulled out a red pen, and set to work. Ava was safely strapped into a high-tech baby rocker in the corner of the office, quietly chewing on a teething ring while I buried myself in columns of figures, shipping manifests, and customs receipts.
For three days straight, I barely slept. I cross-referenced dock timestamps with security camera logs and inventory drop-offs. By the fourth night, the puzzle pieces clicked into place.
It wasn't an external theft. It was an inside job orchestrated by Vincent Moretti, the head of kitchen supplies and one of Reed’s senior lieutenants, who had been systematically falsifying delivery receipts and pocketing the difference.
When I marched into Reed’s private office at midnight with the highlighted audit report, Tommy and Reed were reviewing security feeds.
“Explain,” Reed said, glancing up from his monitor.
I laid the report down on his desk, pointing precisely to the discrepancies. “Vincent Moretti has been skimming thirty thousand dollars a month by colluding with a dock supervisor named Sal. He uses fake invoices for perishable goods that never actually arrive at the kitchens.”
Tommy’s face darkened with rage. “That son of a bitch. I trusted him for ten years.”
Reed didn't look angry. In fact, his expression grew chillingly calm. He looked up at me, his grey eyes gleaming with a mix of approval and cold calculation.
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“Impressive,” Reed murmured, standing up. “Most people would have spent three weeks on this. You did it in seventy-two hours while raising an infant.” He turned to Tommy. “Bring Moretti to the basement. Let’s have a chat about corporate loyalty.”
That night, the rot within Callaway’s empire was excised. Watching Reed handle the betrayal with ruthless efficiency made me realize the true nature of the man I now worked for: he was cold, unforgiving, and terrifying—yet entirely fair to those who played by his rules. And to me, he had become an unexpected shield.
