Chapter 5 - The Man I Trusted
I attended lunch with Raymond at 1:30.
Not because I wanted to see him.
Because I needed him to believe I still trusted him.
The restaurant occupied the top floor of one of my hotels overlooking the Chicago River.
Raymond was already seated when I arrived.
He wore a navy suit and the silver watch I had given him after our first billion-dollar acquisition.
Fourteen years of loyalty sat across from me.
At least, that was what I had called it.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“So you audited housekeepers?”
I poured water.
“Apparently.”
He smiled.
“Leah can be obsessive.”
“That's why I employ her.”
Raymond opened his menu.
“Mercer called.”
Of course he had.
“He said you interfered with a compliance review.”
“I live there.”
“He thought you seemed concerned about one of the housekeepers.”
“Should I not be?”
Raymond's eyes lifted.
“Since when are you personally involved in housekeeping?”
There it was.
Not a question.
A test.
I leaned back.
“Since my wife died and I started noticing things in my own house.”
For one brief moment, grief made the lie feel true.
Raymond's expression softened.
He had known my wife.
He had stood beside me at her funeral.
“Claire would hate what you've turned into since she died.”
I looked at him.
He smiled sadly.
“She'd tell you to sleep.”
The use of her name almost broke my control.
A man stealing from workers had no right to summon my dead wife as evidence of friendship.
But I kept my voice calm.
“You're probably right.”
Lunch continued.
Raymond discussed contracts.
Politics.
A hotel acquisition.
Then, almost casually, he said, “Domestic Services is messy.”
“How messy?”
“Turnover.”
“Anything else?”
“Low-wage workers complain.”
I put down my fork.
“About?”
“Everything.”
He smiled.
“You know how it is.”
“No.”
His smile weakened.
“I mean scheduling, taxes, deductions.”
“Benefits?”
“Sure.”
“Some of them say they aren't receiving benefits.”
Raymond's face remained perfectly still.
“Who says that?”
I let two seconds pass.
“A driver mentioned something.”
“What driver?”
“I don't remember.”
Raymond took a drink.
“That stuff should come through Mercer.”
“Why?”
“So we can verify it before employees start bothering you with misunderstandings.”
Misunderstandings.
June starving in my pantry had become a misunderstanding.
“Good point.”
He relaxed.
I finished lunch.
As we stood, Raymond touched my shoulder.
“Let me handle people problems.”
That sentence remained in my head all afternoon.
Not staffing problems.
People problems.
At 4:10, Leah called.
“We found where the money goes after Northstar.”
“Where?”
“Seven shell companies.”
“Owners?”
“Two are tied to Mercer.”
“And the rest?”
A pause.
“Raymond.”
“How much?”
“At least four million eventually lands in accounts he controls.”
“And the other two?”
“We're still tracing.”
“Why steal this way?”
“Because payroll theft is quiet.”
Leah's voice became sharper.
“Rich investors notice missing millions.”
“Housekeepers notice missing hundreds.”
“And nobody listens to housekeepers.”
“Exactly.”
I closed my eyes.
Raymond had not merely stolen money.
He had chosen victims based on how invisible he believed they were.
He understood my empire better than I did.
He understood that men at the top ignored people beneath them.
May you like
He had counted on that.
And for years, I had proven him right.
