Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO REFUSED TO BECOME A BILLIONAIRE'S PROJECT
Z
Delia found a new job at the Harbor House Café.
It was a small restaurant near the ferry terminal, owned by a woman named Margaret Ellis who had spent twenty years managing diners and understood exactly how exhausting service work could be.
Margaret interviewed Delia on a Tuesday.
“Why did you leave your last position?”
Delia considered lying.
She could have said the schedule didn't work.
That she wanted better hours.
That she was looking for a new challenge.
Instead, she told the truth.
“I paid a customer's bill with my own tips after my manager publicly humiliated him. My manager fired me.”
Margaret stared.
Then leaned back.
“You paid how much?”
“Thirty-five dollars.”
“And he fired you?”
“Yes.”
Margaret shook her head.
“That's the strangest termination story I've heard this month.”
Delia smiled weakly.
“I can provide references from earlier employers.”
“I'd like that.”
Margaret glanced at her résumé.
“You handled inventory at the Copper Lantern?”
“Yes.”
“Any experience with ordering?”
“Some.”
“Scheduling?”
“A little.”
Margaret smiled.
“Good. I'm looking for someone who can eventually take on shift management.”
Delia stared.
“Really?”
“Really. But first, we'll see how you work.”
For the first time in weeks, hope warmed her chest.
The new job wasn't glamorous.
Delia still carried coffee.
Cleaned tables.
Handled difficult customers.
But Margaret paid wages on time.
Employees received clear schedules.
And when a customer complained that his eggs were cold, nobody threatened to fire the waitress for speaking up.
It felt almost luxurious.
Meanwhile, Adrian continued his investigation into the Moretti business network.
He hired independent forensic accountants and legal counsel to review certain shipping and hospitality contracts.
The findings troubled him.
Several transactions involving Victor's companies lacked sufficient documentation.
Northstar Freight had provided services to businesses associated with Victor.
The Copper Lantern appeared in some of those records.
Adrian had spent years telling himself he could separate lawful business from the organization's criminal operations.
Now he was discovering how often the boundaries had been deliberately blurred.
One evening, Delia found Adrian waiting outside Harbor House.
He stood beneath the awning holding two paper cups.
She stopped.
“You know I can buy my own coffee.”
He smiled.
“I know.”
“Then what's this?”
“Hot chocolate.”
She stared.
He held out one cup.
“You said coffee after nine keeps you awake.”
She laughed.
“That's not fair. You remembered.”
He smiled.
“Apparently.”
She accepted the cup.
They walked toward the waterfront.
The air smelled of salt and diesel.
For a while, they talked about ordinary things.
Owen's science project.
Grandma Rose's stubborn refusal to replace her ancient television.
The terrible music Gabriel played in Adrian's car.
Then Delia grew serious.
“Adrian, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why were you really sitting alone in the Copper Lantern that night?”
He looked toward the river.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he answered.
“Because I had just learned my cousin was negotiating behind my back with people who wanted to take control of part of the Moretti organization.”
Delia listened.
“I told him to stop. He laughed. Then he had my driver leave with my car.”
“You were stranded?”
“For the first time in years.”
She looked at him.
“And you didn't call another car?”
“My phone and wallet were in my coat. I needed somewhere to think before I borrowed help.”
Delia smiled faintly.
“So you ordered whiskey.”
“And a bottle of wine.”
“Why the wine?”
Adrian hesitated.
Then said, “It was supposed to be for my mother's birthday.”
Delia looked up.
“Your mother?”
“She died when I was fourteen.”
His expression softened.
“She loved a particular red wine. I saw the bottle behind the bar and ordered it without thinking.”
Delia felt her throat tighten.
“You never opened it.”
“No.”
He looked down.
“I didn't want to drink alone in her memory. I only wanted it sitting there.”
For a moment, she understood something about him she hadn't expected.
The bottle hadn't been a luxury.
It had been grief.
She thought about the photograph Wade had taken down.
About her own mother.
About two strangers sitting in the same bar, both carrying absences nobody else could see.
Delia looked toward the water.
“Maybe that's why I noticed you.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“You looked like somebody who didn't want to be seen.”
He smiled sadly.
“And you?”
She considered.
“I spent years feeling invisible.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Adrian said quietly, “I see you, Delia.”
Her heart moved in a way that frightened her.
She looked at him.
But before she could answer, his phone rang.
Gabriel.
Adrian listened.
His expression darkened.
“What do you mean Wade sold the bar?”
He paused.
Then looked directly at Delia.
“To whom?”
May you like
The answer made his face go completely still.
Victor Moretti.
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