Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
At 12:15 PM, a customer in a brown canvas jacket stepped up to the counter. He held a laminated menu for a moment, then pointed to the daily special.
“Just the turkey club to go,” the man said, pulling a twenty-dollar bill from his leather wallet.
Troy stood at the register, his expression blank. He took the twenty-dollar bill with his left hand.
Without pressing any keys on the register’s keypad, Troy used his right thumb to press down hard on the lower corner of the drawer. The stiff latch gave way with a dull scrape, and the drawer slid open three inches.
Troy dropped the twenty-dollar bill into the back compartment under the plastic tray, slide-clicked the drawer shut, and reached into his own apron pocket to hand the customer five dollars in change.
The transaction never showed on the digital screen above the register. The blue screen remained completely blank, showing only the flashing green cursor of the standby mode.
Carter looked down at his coffee mug. The diner’s monthly reports had shown a steady drop in cash sales, but Donald, his accountant in Decatur, had insisted it was probably an inventory mismatch.
