Victor glanced toward the office and lowered his voice. "No, I can't authorize payment. You'll need the manager. But please don't stop the delivery without speaking to me. We have reservations all week."
When he hung up, Olivia asked whether the produce truck would come on Thursday. Victor rubbed the bridge of his nose and said he didn't know. The uncertainty spread through the kitchen more quickly than any announcement could have done. Every station depended on deliveries being dependable, and every employee knew that a missing ingredient during a busy night would be treated as a personal failure rather than a supply problem.
Marcus arrived with a glossy packet for the investors' visit. Ethan recognized the company's branding on the cover and a photograph of the dining room taken during a particularly successful charity event. Marcus assembled Victor and two senior cooks near the pastry refrigerator. Ethan remained at the sink, where he could hear without leaving his assigned station.
"The investors are visiting this week," Marcus said. "If this restaurant loses its contract or its funding, everyone here loses a job. Do you understand what is at stake?"
"Yes," Victor replied. "But these totals don't match the deliveries. We ordered three cases of prime cuts last week, and your report shows six. I need to understand the difference before I can plan the menus."
Marcus's expression hardened. "You're a chef, Victor. Leave the numbers to me."
"The supplier says several invoices haven't been paid. They won't release the next shipment until someone resolves it."
"Tell them payment is being processed."
"They've been told that three times."
"Then tell them a fourth. I don't need your opinions about accounting. I need you to put excellent food on every table and stop making me repeat myself."
Victor stood without moving. Ethan watched a muscle tighten along the older man's jaw, then release. Victor had been responsible for keeping the kitchen running for eight years, but Marcus spoke to him as if his experience were an inconvenience. A junior cook named Priya lowered her eyes and returned to dicing shallots that were already evenly cut.
After Marcus left, Victor opened a drawer and checked a small stack of delivery slips. He compared dates with the production sheet, pressing his thumb down over a signature that was unmistakably his own. Ethan took another rack of pans from Luis and waited until Victor was alone before asking whether he needed help carrying anything. He did not ask for the slips, knowing that obtaining evidence through a worker's misplaced trust would cross a line he had promised Daniel not to cross.
"You worked in kitchens before this one?" Victor asked instead.
"A long time ago. I've spent most of my life around them."
"Then you know a kitchen can't run on guesses. If I order six cases and receive three, I need to know where the other three are supposed to be. Otherwise it's our inventory that looks wrong."