Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
Carter felt a cold sensation in the center of his chest. They were going to accuse Henry of the entire deficit before the corporate audit even began.
“The manager is going to confront him after the shift,” Megan said, sliding her phone into her apron pocket.
“Let him,” Troy said. “The register is short sixty dollars right now, and zero-four is on the log.”
Carter gripped the edge of the counter stool until his knuckles turned white.
By two o’clock, the afternoon lunch rush had finally cleared, leaving the kitchen quiet except for the steady, high-pitched hum of the old milk dispenser.
Jim, the local shift manager, sat behind the grey metal desk in the small back office, staring at a printout of the weekly register logs.
The air in the narrow room carried the warm, buttery smell of toasted rye from the flat top grill outside.
Henry stood near the metal filing cabinet, his hands clasped in front of his dirty apron, his shoulders slightly hunched.
Carter stood just outside the half-open door, leaning against the dry storage racks where the large cans of sliced peaches were stacked.
