“How much does Brad owe?”
“$400,000. With accumulated interest. It is already over 500,000.”
I nodded slowly, a plan forming in my mind.
“Michael, can you buy that debt?”
He blinked, surprised.
“Buy the debt, Susan. It is $500,000.”
“You owe me 24 years of my life. Can you or can you not?”
Michael remained silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
“I can, but what do you intend to do?”
“When you buy the debt, you will have rights over all of Brad’s assets in case he does not pay. Correct?”
“Yes. Including participation in any business he has.”
“Then we will do the following,” I said, feeling that old strategic cunning wake up after so many years dormant. “Buy the debt, but do not tell Brad. Let him think he still owes the wolf. Meanwhile, let’s make sure the Golden Spoon has some problems.”
“What kind of problems?” Emily asked.
And for the first time since I rescued her from that hell, I saw a flash of the fighting spirit she used to have.
“The kind that shuts down restaurants,” I replied. “Health code violations, expired licenses, labor complaints. Michael, do you have contacts in those departments?”
“I have contacts everywhere that matters.”
“Perfect. Then tomorrow morning, I want the worst inspectors you know to show up at the Golden Spoon. The ones who find problems even in a spotless kitchen.”
Michael sketched a slow smile.
“That can be arranged.”
“And there is one more thing,” I continued. “Emily, do you still have the keys to the restaurant?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Perfect. Tonight, we will pay a little visit to Brad’s office.”
We waited until midnight. Emily took me to the back of the Golden Spoon where a side door gave access to the administrative offices. The restaurant was closed and dark, only a few security lights blinking weakly. Emily trembled when she put the key in the lock.
“Everything is fine,” I whispered. “He is not here, and even if he were, I would not let anything happen to you.”
We entered in silence. The place smelled worse at night when the air conditioning was not running, and all the odors stayed concentrated. Emily guided me down the hall to a small room Brad called an office. It was more of a closet than a real office, crammed with boxes, papers, and trash.
“He keeps everything in a safe,” Emily explained, pointing to a small safe embedded in the wall behind a shelf. “I know the combination. It was our wedding anniversary.”
Her voice was loaded with bitterness.
“Open it.”
Emily dialed the numbers and the safe opened with a click. Inside were documents, some cash, and a laptop. I took everything and put it in a backpack I had brought.
“He is going to notice,” Emily said nervously. “He will notice.”
“But when he does, it will already be too late.”
I also checked the desk drawers and found some interesting receipts, purchases of expensive furniture, interior design contracts, all for the new restaurant Brad was setting up with Tiffany. Absurd amounts far beyond what the Golden Spoon could generate.
“Look at this,” I showed Emily. “While you were eating leftovers, he was spending thousands on crystal chandeliers to impress his mistress.”
Emily’s face hardened.
“I want him to pay, Mom. I want him to feel every ounce of pain he made me feel.”
“He will feel it,” I promised. “He will feel much more than that.”
We left the restaurant as silently as we entered. Back home, I spent the rest of the night examining the documents. Brad’s laptop was a treasure trove of incriminating information. Parallel accounting, fake invoices, undeclared payments. It was enough material to destroy him completely.
The next morning, Michael called early.
“The inspectors are already on their way. They should arrive at the restaurant around 10.”
“Perfect. I will be there to see it.”
“Susan,” Michael hesitated. “Are you sure about this? Once we start, there is no turning back.”
“I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”
At 9:45, I dressed in simple but neat clothes and took a taxi to the Golden Spoon. I stayed across the street, watching from a coffee shop. At 10:00 sharp, a white van from the health department pulled up in front of the restaurant. Two inspectors got out carrying clipboards and equipment. They were known in the industry as the most rigorous and inflexible in the city.
I saw Brad run out to meet them, panic already stamped on his face. The inspectors did not even look at him. They simply entered the establishment.
40 minutes later, they came out. One of them slapped a huge orange notice on the door.
“Closed for health violations. Prohibited from operating for 30 days.”
Brad was outside gesturing frantically, trying to negotiate, but the inspectors were already getting into the van.
My cell phone rang. It was Michael.
“Phase one complete. And I have more news. I just received the transfer of ownership of Brad’s debt. Officially, I am the creditor now.”
“Excellent. Phase two. Notify Brad that the debt has matured and that he has 48 hours to pay or you are going to seize all his assets, including the share in the new restaurant, especially the share in the new restaurant.”
I hung up and kept watching. Brad was on the phone now, clearly desperate, probably calling suppliers, trying to cancel orders, trying to save what he could, but it was too late. The gears I had set in motion were relentless.
I returned home where Emily was waiting anxiously.
“Did it go well?”
“Perfectly. The restaurant is closed for a month and Michael just became the owner of Brad’s debt.”
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