Chapter 4 - The Notice With a Familiar Name

Mr. Novak laid the notice on the desk as though it might break if he moved it too quickly. The paper carried the name of a company I'd heard only once before: Moretti Property Group. It said that the bakery owed additional charges and could face action under its lease if the account wasn't brought current by January second.

“Are those charges in your lease?” I asked.

“You think I can afford a lawyer to tell me?”

“Then how do you know you owe them?”

He gave me a tired look. “Because a man comes here every month and tells me so.”

The man was Victor Sloane, the property manager who had handled the building for years. According to Mr. Novak, he had begun collecting separate security assessments the previous spring, at first modest amounts and then enough to make the owner delay ordinary expenses. When Mr. Novak questioned him, Sloane warned that the building could be redeveloped and that troublemakers would not be offered new leases.

That explained Mr. Novak's fear. It didn't excuse the hours missing from my wages.

“You should have told us,” I said. “You didn't have the right to solve this by not paying people.”

He sat down heavily. “I know.”

It was the first time he'd admitted even that much. He let me photograph the notice after I said I wanted a lawyer to review it. I sent it to Marisol rather than to Tomas. Whatever Dominic Moretti's company had done, I wanted someone on my side who wasn't being paid by him.

Marisol called before I got home. “This document demands several categories of payment,” she said. “Some may be legitimate under a commercial lease. Others need verification. What matters for your wage claim is that your employer cannot shift his business costs onto you by underreporting hours.”

“Can I lose my job for asking?”

“He may try to retaliate. Document every change to your schedule. Call me before you sign a new agreement.”

The following morning, Sloane arrived during the breakfast rush. I recognized him from Mr. Novak's description: an expensive gray overcoat, polished shoes, and the habit of speaking as though everybody else had already agreed with him. He walked past waiting customers and into the office without asking permission.

I was at the counter when he came out. Mr. Novak followed, looking pale.

“I hope everyone's cooperating,” Sloane said pleasantly. His eyes paused on my face. “A small business needs loyal employees.”

I said nothing. Leila was beside the bread display, close enough to hear. Sloane straightened his cuffs and left. The conversation had lasted only a few seconds, but I understood the warning.

That evening Tomas contacted me again. He said Dominic had received preliminary records from the property office and that several invoices did not match the amounts reported to the company's accounting department. He did not offer specifics he wasn't authorized to share. He asked whether I'd be willing to speak with Dominic and the company's counsel in a place I chose.

I considered saying no. Then I looked at Rosie's drawing on the kitchen table and thought of the other employees at Novak's. We were all making calculations like mine, deciding what could wait until another Friday.

I agreed on one condition. Marisol would attend with me.

We met at a quiet conference room in an office building, not at Dominic's home and not in one of his restaurants. He arrived without an entourage. Tomas waited outside. Across the table sat a company attorney named Daniel Reyes. Marisol placed her notebook between us.

“I won't ask you to trust me because of my name,” Dominic began.

“That would be difficult,” I said.

He accepted the answer. Then Daniel explained what the company knew. A management report listed routine building-security expenses. But the bills being handed to tenants demanded separate payments to an account not shown on those reports. Sloane had authority to administer ordinary repairs and collections. He did not have authority to create new charges outside signed agreements.

“Could those notices be mistakes?” Marisol asked.

“They could be improperly issued,” Daniel answered. “We are confirming who approved them and where the money went.”

I took out the photograph of Mr. Novak's notice. Daniel compared it with his copy. His expression became more guarded when he reached the bottom of the page. A signature appeared beneath an approval line: Dominic Moretti.

Dominic saw my reaction. “I haven't seen that notice before today,” he said.

“But it's your name.”

“Yes.”

I had no way to know whether he was telling the truth. Men with power often had excellent explanations for why other people were responsible for what happened beneath them. Marisol asked for time to examine the evidence. Dominic agreed to provide the company's records through counsel, subject to ordinary confidentiality protections.

“Meanwhile,” I said, “what happens to the bakery on January second?”

Dominic looked at Daniel. “No lease enforcement based on disputed assessments while this is reviewed. Put that in writing today.”

Daniel wrote it down. I felt relief and resentment at the same time. A single instruction from the right man could remove a threat that had been hanging over people's livelihoods for months. It should never have taken a stranger noticing my daughter's drawing to make that possible.

Before the meeting ended, Dominic spoke directly to me. “You were right in the store. I tried to solve what I saw without knowing what caused it. I'm trying not to repeat that.”

I believed that he was trying. I didn't yet know whether trying would be enough.

When I returned to the bakery the next morning, Mr. Novak handed me a new schedule with fewer shifts. He would not meet my eyes. He said business had slowed, although customers were standing in line behind me. I photographed the schedule, then called Marisol.

She asked one question. “Did Mr. Sloane visit again?”

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Mr. Novak had mentioned another meeting with him the previous night. I could not prove the connection, but the timing was difficult to ignore.

I looked toward the ovens where I'd worked so many unpaid hours. The landlord's disputed demand had been paused. Yet someone had found a new way to make me pay for asking questions.