My daughter texted me from the restaurant kitchen, terrified: “Mom, the new manager is accusing me of stealing cash! He’s calling the police!” I typed back: “Lock yourself in the storage room. I’m coming.” I didn’t call my husband. I simply stood up from the dinner table—where I had been sitting incognito as a mystery customer for an inspection.
From the quiet, climate-controlled sanctuary of the Elysian penthouse suite, I, Anna Vance, watched my domain. I was not a guest; I was a ghost—the Chairwoman of the Board—conducting my own discreet, anonymous audit.
Tonight’s target: Michael Peterson, the new Night Manager. A predator disguised as a manager, a liability waiting to be exposed.
My gaze shifted to the kitchen feed. There was Chloe. A surge of fierce, protective pride washed over me, immediately followed by anxiety. She had chosen this job, starting at the bottom—right in Peterson’s path.
Then my phone buzzed. A text from Chloe. My blood ran cold:
“MOM! I need help. The new manager is trying to frame me for stealing cash. He’s calling the police! I’m scared, please hurry!”
Maternal rage flared, but the Chairwoman in me stayed calm. I didn’t panic. The chessboard was already set.
My thumbs flew across the screen:
Anna (to Chloe): “The man in the ill-fitting blue suit, right? The one who spent twenty minutes gossiping with the hostess?”
Chloe (frantic reply): “Yes! That’s him! He’s got me in the back office! What do I do?”
Anna (to Chloe): “There’s a deadbolt inside the dry-storage pantry. Lock yourself in. Do not speak to him. I’m coming.”
I stood. The hunt had begun.
The kitchen was chaos—steam, shouting, panic. Michael raged at the pantry door, red-faced, screaming at Chloe, who trembled inside.
“You think you can hide from me, you thief?! The money is gone, and you’re going to jail! Open this door!”
He spun as I approached. “Hey! You! This is staff-only! Who the hell are you?”
I stopped in front of him, meeting his fury with icy calm. “Who am I?” I said steadily. “I am the person the girl you are falsely accusing just called for help.”
A sneer twisted his lips. “Oh, wonderful. Mommy’s here to save the day. What are you going to do—sue me? Get out of my way! This is a corporate matter! Watch your daughter get arrested!” He reached for me.
I ignored him, turning my back in a gesture of total dismissal. I addressed the Manager-on-Duty, Robert, who had rushed over.
My voice shifted from quiet to the sharp authority of someone who owns the room.
“Robert,” I commanded. “Call the Chairman of the Board. Immediately. Tell him Chairwoman Vance requests his presence in the kitchen to observe a gross corporate violation, a level-three employee safety incident, and a potential criminal slander case.”
“B-But Ms. Vance… I mean… Madam Chairwoman…” Robert stammered, arrogance melting into panic. “She… she stole! The deposit bag… it’s short by five hundred dollars!”
I turned to him, eyes cold with contempt. “I know my daughter didn’t steal a dime. But I know that you did.”