PART 2: The Man Behind the Boots
I turned toward Brooke.
“How long have employees been told to claim there are no tables available when management decides a customer probably won’t spend enough?”
Brooke stared at me.
“How do you know about that?”
Paige’s face shifted.
“Do not answer him.”
I went on.
“Are servers also being told to move high-spending customers between sections so individual sales numbers can be manipulated?”
Brooke looked at Paige.
Then back at me.
This time, she answered.
“Yes.”
Paige stepped forward.
“That is confidential company information.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
She stared at me.
“Who exactly are you?”
Before I could reply, two people walked into the dining room.
Naomi Mercer crossed the floor toward us with a leather portfolio.
At her side was Malcolm Reeves, Langley Hospitality Group’s regional operations director.
Paige knew Malcolm on sight.
The confidence drained from her face.
“Mr. Reeves?”
Malcolm walked right past her and stood next to me.
“Mr. Langley, we brought everything you requested.”
The room fell silent.
Paige looked at Malcolm.
Then at me.
Then back at Malcolm.
“Mr… Langley?”
Naomi set the portfolio on the table.
I held out my hand.
“Everett Langley.”
Brooke covered her mouth.
Paige took half a step back.
“You’re that Everett Langley?”
“I suppose I’m the only one who owns 62 percent of Langley Hospitality.”
Right then, two security officers arrived.
One of them turned to Paige.
“Ma’am, which guest did you need us to escort out?”
Paige opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I regarded her calmly.
“I believe the situation has changed.”
Naomi opened the portfolio.
Over the previous seven weeks, corporate had received eleven formal customer complaints and nineteen internal reports about Hawthorne House.
There were altered reservations.
Employee statements.
Questionable bonus adjustments.
Customers shifted between sections to manipulate sales figures.
Written instructions urging staff to prioritize tables expected to produce bigger checks.
Paige protested at once.
“This was a setup.”
I shook my head.
“No. I came here to have dinner with my daughter. Everything after that was your decision.”
Then Naomi drew out another document.
This one was new to me.
Eighty-three transactions had been labeled as complimentary meals, supposedly given because of customer complaints.
Together they exceeded $18,000 over six months.
But many of those complaints never existed.
Most of the free meals had gone to people connected to Paige.
Friends.
Relatives.
Personal acquaintances.
Paige shook her head quickly.
“That doesn’t prove I approved them.”
Naomi laid one last sheet on the table.
“Every transaction was authorized through your management credentials.”
For the first time, Paige looked truly frightened.
But Brooke wasn’t finished.
