The betrayal was absolute. Within fifteen minutes, federal agents swept into the restaurant. Crane and Mercer were taken into custody. The fake contract, stained with balsamic reduction, was collected in an evidence bag.
Arthur walked back across the dining room to Clara. Miss Thompson, tonight you didn’t just save my company. You saved the jobs of twelve thousand employees. You saved my grandfather’s legacy.
And you did it by risking the only job you have. I couldn’t let them do to you what they did to my father. Arthur reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a crisp business card. I don’t know how much debt your father left you, but consider it paid in full as of tomorrow morning.
Mr. Gallagher, I can’t—
I insist. And I find myself in sudden need of a new chief financial officer. Someone who can spot a lie from ten feet away and isn’t afraid to drop a bowl of sauce on a bad deal.
My office is on the fiftieth floor of the Gallagher building. Be there at nine on Monday. We have a company to rebuild. Clara looked down at the card in her hand, the gold lettering catching the light.
When she looked up, Arthur was already walking out the door, stepping into the rainy New York night. She untied her black serving apron and dropped it on the floor. She walked out of Levantine without looking back, stepping into the rain, ready to reclaim the life that had been stolen from her.