She wasn't alone anymore. And Arnold had no intention of letting that change. Arnold sat alone at the small desk in his hotel room. The soft hum of the mini fridge and the distant murmur of traffic outside the window, providing the only ambient noise. The glow from his laptop cast a pale light across his face, catching the tension around his eyes that hadn't eased since he left the restaurant hours earlier.
Mason had long since fallen asleep, curled up with a blanket on the bed behind him, the innocence of childhood resting in stark contrast to the weight that pressed on Arnold's chest. He stared at the login page of Redgate's internal operations portal, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. This wasn't how most CEOs spent their Saturday nights, but Arnold didn't care. He wasn't here to delegate. He was here to know.
Once logged in, the interface greeted him with familiar tabs, sales reports, payroll, inventory usage, scheduling. He didn't need a tutorial. He had built this system, not the code, but the structure. How data flowed, how anomalies could be tracked, how truth could be uncovered if you knew where to look. He started with the Charlotte location, the same store where Simon was still working unchecked.
Opening the sales reports from the past 6 months, he noted immediately that the total revenue for that branch consistently fell 15 to 20% below stores of similar size and traffic. That by itself wasn't enough to raise flags. There could be a dozen local factors. But when paired with the inventory usage logs, the numbers stopped making sense. The quantities of beef buns, fries, and condiments used matched the average for better performing stores, meaning food was moving.
It was being cooked, served, and consumed, but the money, it wasn't being recorded. Arnold clicked over to the cash handling reports. Most stores showed digital transactions making up roughly 70% of daily sales with cash filling the rest. But in Charlotte, cash accounted for nearly half of the transactions. Yet, even with higher cash sales, the end of day reconciliations reported no significant discrepancies.
That was suspicious, especially for a location where he had personally witnessed Simon pocketing bills without a single keystroke. He moved on to payroll records. This was where things tightened. Employee clockins and clockouts were timestamped automatically. And in theory, those hours fed directly into the weekly payroll.
But in Charlotte, several employees, Vera among them, had a consistent pattern. They clocked in for full shifts, but their paid hours were trimmed by small manual adjustments. An hour here, 90 minutes there. Not enough to spark outrage individually, but collectively across weeks, it became theft. Arnold pulled Vera's time log side by side with her payubs.
He traced the discrepancies, saw how the system listed her scheduled shift as 7 hours her clockin matched that exactly, but the paid line showed 5 hours and 45 minutes. Every week, the same story. And it wasn't just her. Two other names popped up repeatedly, both part-time staff who hadn't been present when he visited. Maybe they had already quit.
Maybe they had been pushed out. A growing knot settled deeper into his gut. He clicked through to the operations expense logs. Another red flag, a category labeled operational adjustments. On paper, it looked harmless.
An umbrella entry for minor expenditures not accounted for elsewhere. But here, it was being used far too frequently. One entry cited equipment recalibration. Another unexpected loss, another simply adjustment. None had documentation, no invoice, no manager notes, and all had been approved by Simon.
Arnold sat back, exhaled through his nose, then leaned in again. He sorted the adjustment entries by date, and cross- referenced them with Simon's schedule. Every time Simon managed a closing shift, an adjustment appeared. Some as small as $30, others over 200. Always vague, always cashbased.
It was systematic, not sloppy, not impulsive. It was structured deliberate and buried just deep enough to pass unnoticed unless someone was looking for it. And now Arnold was looking. He closed the Charlotte tab and opened a second location one in Raleigh. Simon had worked there 12 months earlier.
The same signs appeared. Lower than average revenue, high cash ratio, frequent operational adjustments, payroll edits, different names, same pattern. A third location in Greenville told the same story. Simon had moved between them like a ghost, leaving a trail of paper thin cover-ups that had gone unchecked. But what struck Arnold hardest wasn't just Simon's behavior.
It was that someone let it continue. Simon had been transferred three times in less than two years, each time under the pretense of team restructuring. That wasn't a red flag to the system, but to Arnold, it was a siren. He checked the digital signoffs. Each of Simon's promotions, each location reassignment, each approval of his payroll and expense reports bore the same regional signature.
Killian Vincent, the regional director, a man Arnold had known professionally for nearly a decade. Not close, not particularly friendly, but competent, or so he thought, Arnold leaned back in his chair, rubbed his temples, and stared at the screen. The silence in the room now felt louder, thick, with the knowledge that what he had feared was true. This wasn't an isolated store problem. It was systemic, coordinated, protected.
He opened his contacts and scrolled until he found the name he needed. Alfred Louu, chief financial officer. If there was anyone else inside corporate who would follow the numbers honestly, it was Alfred. He was meticulous, understated, and impossible to intimidate. Arnold tapped out a message.
Need your eyes on some data. Pattern across multiple stores. Payroll and expense manipulation linked to Simon Aubrey. All roots trace back to Killian. I'll send files shortly.
He paused, reread the message, then hit send. A moment later, he began compiling the documents. Screenshot CSV exports summary notes. He created a folder, encrypted it, and labeled it redgate internal level one review. His fingers hovered over the trackpad.
He looked once more at Vera's time log at the column that read adjusted hours at the way her paycheck had been sliced cleanly and quietly. She had said nobody ever stays around long enough to ask. Well, he was still here and now he wasn't just asking. He was going to act. Arnold returned to the Charlotte store the following day just before the afternoon rush.
He walked in not as a customer, not as a curious bystander, but as the man whose name sat above the corporate charter, a founder reclaiming the values his brand was built on. The moment he stepped through the door, employees glanced up with the same guarded expressions he'd seen before. Some recognized him from the day prior, others didn't. But it didn't matter. He wasn't here to hide.
He was here to speak. Simon was standing near the backline reviewing what looked like a stack of inventory notes. He looked up puzzled at first, then offered a tight smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Mr. Hector," he said, "Too loud too quickly.
Didn't expect to see you back so soon. We keeping up with your expectations. " Arnold didn't return the smile. Instead, he moved to the center of the dining area and clapped his hands twice firmly, not in anger, but to cut through the soft buzz of customer chatter and kitchen noise. Employees paused, heads turned. Everyone, Arnold said, his voice clear but steady.
I need you to come out here for a moment, please, all of you. There was hesitation. Staff looked to one another. Some glanced toward Simon, unsure of how to respond. Simon's expression shifted, his jaw tightening.
What's going on? He asked, walking forward, trying to take back control of the space. Arnold met his eyes directly. It concerns you. That's why I need everyone else present.
Simon laughed once hollow. Is this a corporate thing? Because I haven't gotten any memos. Arnold turned his head slightly. It's not a memo, it's accountability.
Employees began to step out one by one. Vera came from behind the counter, her expression unreadable, but alert. Caleb stood in the doorway from the kitchen, arms folded, eyes locked on Simon. A few part-timers hovered near the drink station, cautious but curious. No one spoke.
Arnold held up a stack of printed reports in one hand. His voice remained calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind every word. For the past 6 months, he began this location has reported below average revenue despite consistent product usage. The numbers don't align. You've been using just as much beef, just as many buns, just as many bags of fries, but somehow we're bringing in far less cash.
Simon raised a brow. Maybe our customers just aren't spending as much. Arnold ignored the deflection. I cross-checked cash register logs with inventory. On days you're here, the percentage of cash transactions goes up, but recorded sales don't reflect that.
I also found regular operational adjustments all signed under your name. Each one conveniently following your closing shifts. Simon shifted his weight, trying to maintain composure. You think I'm stealing? I think you're exploiting a system you thought no one would question.
Arnold flipped to the next page. Payroll records. Employees clock in for full shifts. The system logs their time, but when checks are issued, hours are missing. Not always, just enough to stay quiet and always to the same people.