Naomi straightened.
“Yes?”
“Why are you still at this table?”
“He had questions about the menu.”
Shaw looked at me.
“What questions?”
I smiled.
“Mostly about management.”
Naomi’s eyes widened.
Shaw did not appreciate the joke.
“Naomi has other guests.”
“I understand.”
He turned toward her.
“Kitchen. Now.”
She left.
Then Shaw looked at me.
“Is there an issue?”
“I’m having lunch.”
“You seem very interested in my staff.”
“Your staff?”
“My employees.”
Interesting wording.
I took another bite of steak.
“They represent the restaurant well.”
His expression softened slightly.
“Most of them.”
“Not Naomi?”
He looked toward the kitchen.
“She won’t last.”
“Why?”
“Attitude.”
“I haven’t seen any.”
“You’re a guest.”
“And?”
“You see the polished version.”
I almost smiled.
That was exactly what I was thinking about him.
“What does the unpolished version look like?”
His patience thinned.
“Sir, are you reviewing us for something?”
“What would I be reviewing you for?”
“Are you a consultant?”
“No.”
“Competitor?”
“No.”
“Then enjoy your lunch.”
He walked away.
I did.
For another fifteen minutes.
Then the dining room began changing.
Not visibly at first.
My phone buzzed.
Elaine.
Can you talk?
I paid attention to the room.
Shaw was near the front.
Naomi was carrying plates.
I answered quietly.
“What do you have?”
“Enough that I understand why you told me to preserve records.”
My appetite disappeared.
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“What did you find?”
“First, the service fee.”
I looked at the folded note beside my plate.
“What about it?”
“Private dining contracts list an administrative service charge.”
“That can be legitimate.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The employee communications around it are inconsistent.”
“How?”
“Some onboarding materials apparently describe portions of event charges in ways that could reasonably lead staff to expect distributions.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Do payroll records match?”
“We’re still reviewing.”
“What else?”
“Tip adjustment complaints.”
“How many?”
“At least six over fourteen months.”
I looked toward Naomi.
“Six?”
“Possibly more. I’m pulling archived HR tickets.”
“Regional knew?”
“Some were escalated.”
My voice lowered.
“To whom?”
“I’m tracing it.”
That answer bothered me.
Our structure existed specifically so an employee could go above a manager.
If complaints were dying somewhere between Augustine’s and corporate leadership, Shaw might not be the only problem.
“What about scheduling?”
“We see changes after several complaints.”
“Retaliation?”
“Correlation. Not yet proof.”
“Good.”
Elaine paused.
“You sound disappointed I won’t call it retaliation.”
“I’m relieved.”
“You want me to send someone?”
“Not yet.”
“Samuel.”
“I’m sitting in the restaurant.”
“I know.”
“Let me finish lunch.”
“You own twelve restaurants and somehow still find ways to make my job strange.”
“I pay you well.”
“Not enough for mystery lunches.”
I smiled.
Then hung up.
When Naomi returned, I asked for the check.
She looked disappointed.
Maybe she thought the note had scared me away.
“Of course.”
A few minutes later, she placed the check presenter on the table.
I opened it.
The total was correct.
The receipt included standard tax and a line for gratuity.
Nothing unusual on my individual check.
I placed my card inside.
Not the black corporate card my executives had seen.
A personal card.