Chapter 10-- The meeting
1338 Words
*CHAPTER 10: THE MEETING*
---
*11:47 AM. July 3. Outside the Café*
The receipt was in my hand again.
I’d taken it out three times on the bus.
Folded it.
Unfolded it.
Checked if the ink was still there.
`Booth 7. Tomorrow. 12 PM. Bring the receipt.`
Today was tomorrow.
My palms were sweating.
Not from fear.
From the weight of it.
`Your father came to this booth every Thursday.`
`He left something here.`
The café doors were glass.
I could see inside from the sidewalk.
Booth 7 was empty.
No Anderson.
No Peterson.
Just light on the table.
Like a stage waiting.
I pushed the door.
The bell rang.
---
*12:00 PM. Café Entrance*
The air was different today.
Quieter.
Not empty.
Just… cleared.
Maya at the register didn’t look up.
Tunde wasn’t at the pastry case.
Ariel wasn’t behind the pass.
Only one staff member was on Floor 3.
The new girl.
The one who never spoke.
She saw me.
Nodded once.
Then went to the back.
Booth 7 was still empty.
And sitting in the center of it was a black folder.
No coffee.
No water.
Just the folder.
I walked over slowly.
My steps sounded too loud.
---
*12:03 PM. Booth 7*
The folder was plain.
No logo.
No name.
Just weight.
I sat down.
The chair was cold again.
Like it remembered me.
I put the receipt on the table first.
Next to the folder.
Like I was supposed to.
Then I opened it.
Inside:
1. A photo. Black and white.
Dad. Younger. Sitting in THIS booth.
Date stamp: `Thurs. 11/14/2019`
He was holding a cup. Smiling at someone off-camera.
2. A key. Small. Brass.
Tag attached: `B7`
3. A document. One page.
`CONFIDENTIAL. PETERSON HOLDINGS.`
`Employee Transfer: Marcus Adeleke`
`Position: External Auditor`
`Status: Terminated 12/02/2019`
`Reason: Contract Breach`
My father’s name.
My father’s termination.
And the date.
Two weeks before he died.
My hands didn’t shake.
That surprised me.
I closed the folder.
Because I heard footsteps.
---
*12:07 PM. Anderson Arrives*
He didn’t use the front door.
He came from the staff stairs.
Grey suit.
No coffee.
Eyes on me.
He stopped across from me.
Didn’t sit.
“You brought it,” he said.
I tapped the receipt. “You told me to.”
He sat.
Slow.
“I told you to ask Peterson what he took,” he said.
“You didn’t.”
“No,” I said. “You told me to bring the receipt.”
Something almost like approval crossed his face.
“Good,” he said. “Following orders is how you survive.”
“I’m not following orders,” I said. “I’m following answers.”
He nodded toward the folder. “Then look at page 2.”
I opened it again.
Under the termination letter was a handwritten note.
Paperclipped.
`M -`
`If they find this, give it to her. Only her.`
`The key opens the locker. Booth 7 has a false panel.`
`Don’t trust Peterson.`
`— J`
`J.`
I looked up. “Who’s J?”
Anderson didn’t answer.
He leaned forward.
Picked up the key.
Turned it in his fingers.
“This was your father’s,” he said.
“He gave it to me the last Thursday he was here.”
My throat went dry.
“You knew him.”
“I worked with him,” Anderson corrected.
“External audit. Peterson Holdings.”
The word hit like ice.
`External Auditor.`
That wasn’t accounting.
That was investigations.
“Why didn’t Mom know?” I asked.
“Because he was protecting her,” Anderson said.
“And you.”
Silence.
The café was too quiet.
“What did he find?” I asked.
Anderson put the key down.
Pushed it across to me.
“He found that Peterson has been moving money through this café for 6 years,” he said.
“Off the books. Through fake vendors. Through staff payroll.”
My stomach turned.
“Booth 7,” he continued. “Was the drop point.
Every Thursday.
Cash.
Documents.
Your father was supposed to file the report.”
I stared at the photo.
Dad. Smiling.
Two weeks before he was gone.
“Did he file it?” I asked.
“No,” Anderson said. “He hid it instead.”
He looked at the key in my hand.
“In the locker.”
---
*12:18 PM. The Trap*
The back door opened.
Peterson.
He wasn’t alone.
Victor was with him.
Peterson stopped when he saw us.
Saw the folder.
Saw the key.
His face didn’t change.
That was the worst part.
“Mr. Anderson,” he said. Calm. “This is private property.”
Anderson didn’t stand.
“I’m a customer.”
“You’re trespassing.”
“I’m meeting a staff member,” Anderson said.
He looked at me. “On her break.”
Peterson’s eyes moved to me.
Cold.
Measuring.
“Linda,” he said. “Step away from the table.”
I didn’t move.
Because my hand was on the key.
And my other hand was on the folder.
“Mr. Peterson,” I said. My voice was steady. “What did you take from my father?”
The room went still.
Even the new girl in the back stopped moving.
Peterson smiled.
Small.
Practiced.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Anderson spoke before I could.
“He means the report, Victor,” he said.
“Marcus found the shell companies.
He found the Thursday drops.
He found Booth 7.”
Victor shifted.
Uncomfortable.
Peterson’s smile faded.
“That’s slander,” he said.
“No,” Anderson said. “It’s evidence.”
He tapped the folder. “Which is now in her possession.”
All of them looked at me.
Me.
With the folder.
With the key.
With my father’s name on a termination letter.
---
*12:22 PM. My Move*
I stood.
Folder in one hand.
Key in the other.
Receipt still on the table.
“I’m taking my break,” I said.
Peterson didn’t block me.
He watched me.
“Be careful what you open, Linda,” he said softly.
“Some doors don’t close.”
I met his eyes.
“Then I won’t close them.”
I walked past him.
Past Victor.
Toward the staff stairs.
Anderson didn’t follow.
He stayed seated.
Because this was my part now.
---
*12:30 PM. Staff Room + Locker*
The staff room was empty.
I locked the door.
The key said `B7`.
Booth 7.
But there was no locker in Booth 7.
I remembered Anderson’s note:
`Booth 7 has a false panel.`
I went back down.
Floor 3 was empty now.
Peterson and Victor were in the office upstairs.
I knelt by Booth 7.
Ran my hand under the bench seat.
There.
A seam.
A small metal latch.
The key fit.
Click.
The panel opened.
Inside:
A USB drive.
Wrapped in plastic.
And another note.
Folded.
Dad’s handwriting.
`Linda,`
`If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it.`
`I’m sorry.`
`This has everything.`
`Give it to someone you trust.`
`Not Peterson.`
`I love you.`
`— Dad`
I held the USB like it would break.
And like it would burn me.
Because this was it.
The reason he died.
The reason I was hired.
The reason Anderson came.
Evidence.
---
*12:40 PM. Decision*
I put the USB in my pocket.
Next to the key.
Next to the receipt.
Closed the panel.
Walked out.
Anderson was still at Booth 7.
Alone.
He looked at me.
Saw my face.
“You found it,” he said.
I nodded.
“Who do I trust?” I asked.
He stood.
“Me,” he said. “For now.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know yet.
But I knew who I didn’t trust.
Peterson.
And that was enough to start.
I walked out of the café.
The bell rang behind me.
And for the first time since the message came…
I wasn’t the girl waiting in Booth 7.
I was the one holding the answer.
- Writer
