Chapter 5 - The Ledger of Blood
Three weeks passed. November turned into a freezing December, covering the streets of Chicago in dirty, slushy snow.
At Bellamy’s, the holiday rush was in full swing. The dining room was constantly filled with corporate executives, city politicians, and wealthy families celebrating the season. Yet, Table Eleven remained reserved every Friday night for Dominic Moretti.
He returned every week, arriving precisely at eight o'clock, sitting alone in his alcove, eating his simple meal, and leaving a generous stack of hundred-dollar bills on the table before walking out into the cold night.
I changed the way I worked. I stopped judging people by their coats. Whenever families with tired eyes or shivering children paused near the front glass, I found ways to bring them hot bread, soup, or warm cocoa without asking my manager for permission. I paid for it out of my own tip earnings.
One sharp Friday evening, Moretti walked into the restaurant. But he was not alone.
Walking half a step behind him was Emily Bennett.
My jaw almost dropped when I saw her.
She looked completely transformed. Her worn navy coat had been replaced by an elegant, dark grey wool coat that fit her tailored frame perfectly. Her brown hair was styled neatly, her grey eyes were clear and confident, and she carried a sleek leather iPad case under her arm.
She looked like an executive assistant to a high-ranking corporate officer.
“Good evening, Miss Dawson,” Moretti said smoothly as he approached the stand.
“Good evening, Mr. Moretti,” I replied, forcing my voice to remain professional. I looked at Emily and offered a genuine smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Bennett. It is wonderful to see you again.”
Emily’s eyes softened, a warm, genuine smile lighting up her face. “It’s good to see you too, Claire.”
I led them back to Table Eleven. This time, the floor captain didn't frown or whisper. He pulled out two chairs immediately, treating Emily with the exact same deferential respect he showed Moretti.
As I set down their water glasses, Emily leaned over the table, placing a thin, dark leather ledger beside Moretti’s wine glass.
“I finished auditing the 2021 shipping manifests for the Calumet Harbor warehouse,” Emily said, her voice dropping into a businesslike register. “You were right, Dominic. Someone has been skimming four percent off the fuel surcharges every month for three years.”
Moretti didn't pick up the ledger immediately. He swirled his wine, looking at her with a calm, approving expression. “Who signed off on the manifest discrepancies?”
“Marcus Vance,” Emily said, reading straight from her notes. “Your primary logistics director for the south docks.”
I stood near the service station ten feet away, pretending to polish silver cutlery, but my ears were tuned to every word.
The name Marcus Vance sent a cold chill through my spine. Even a twenty-two-year-old host who didn't follow local crime news knew who Marcus Vance was. He was a notorious waterfront operator whose name frequently appeared in local newspaper investigations regarding union corruption and dockside extortion.
“Vance thinks he is untouchable because he controls the dockworkers' union,” Moretti said softly, his voice showing no trace of emotion. “He assumes because I am consolidating our legal real estate holdings, I have lost my stomach for accounting.”
“The total missing is nearly two million dollars,” Emily added, her fingers tracing the edge of the leather ledger. “It’s not just a clerical error, Dominic. He’s using your secondary shipping lines to move unmanifested cargo through the harbor.”
Moretti looked at the ledger, then looked at Emily.
“You did exceptional work, Emily,” Moretti said gently. “In three weeks, you found what three team accounting firms missed for three years.”
“Numbers don't lie,” Emily replied with a quiet, confident smile. “People do. When you spend years trying to survive on a strict budget, you learn to spot missing pennies instantly.”
Moretti reached out, his thick, scarred hand briefly resting over hers on the white tablecloth. “You and Sophie are safe now, Emily. Vance will not be a problem much longer.”
May you like
I stepped back into the shadows of the hallway, holding my polishing cloth tightly.
Emily Bennett had not just taken a job as a bookkeeper. She had accidentally uncovered a massive internal betrayal within Chicago’s most dangerous criminal organization—and she had put herself directly in the crosshairs of Marcus Vance.
