Luca didn’t fire Greg on the spot. He’s not that kind of man.
“Go home tonight, Greg,” he said quietly. “Come see me tomorrow at nine. We will talk about what kind of restaurant this is.”
Greg left without another word.
Then Luca turned to my father.
“Mr. Callaway,” he said warmly, offering his hand. “Happy belated birthday. I am so sorry about what happened in my restaurant. Your son is a good man. The best kind of businessman. He kept his word to me when nobody else would.”
Dad shook his hand slowly. He looked like he’d walked into the wrong house.
“You’re selling this place to Michael?” Dad said. “My Michael?”
“For six point two million dollars,” Luca said. “He did not tell you?”
Dad turned and looked at me.
“Nobody ever asked, Dad,” I said quietly.
Luca sat us at the best table in the house. A corner booth by the window, under an old black-and-white photograph of Luca’s grandmother standing in her kitchen in Italy.
He sent out a bottle of Barolo. Then the osso buco. His grandmother’s recipe.
Dad didn’t touch any of it.
He just sat there looking at me across the white tablecloth.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
So I did.
The empty group chat. The missing reservation details. The four minutes of security footage. The hundred-dollar bill. What Andrea told me about the stories. The bankruptcy. The truck. The mortgage.
Then I told him about Derek. Holloway Residential. Capstone Bridge Capital and their fourteen-percent loan.
And the preliminary inquiry at the Virginia Real Estate Board into the company’s escrow account.
My father’s face went gray.
“Michael,” he said slowly. “How much do you know about the four hundred thousand?”
“I know Vanessa’s been asking you to invest it.”
He set down his fork very carefully.
“I already said yes,” he said.
My heart stopped.
“Dad. Has the money moved?”
“Not yet.” He swallowed hard. “Vanessa set it all up. She said it would be easier if she handled the paperwork. Since she has my power of attorney. She said I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. She said I’d sign one form at Tom’s office next Tuesday and it would all be done.”
“Next Tuesday.”
“She said Derek would pay me eight percent a year. Better than the market. She said it was a family investment. That Mom would have wanted me to help them.”
He looked down at his hands on the tablecloth.
“She said you’d be jealous if you found out,” he said quietly. “That’s why we weren’t telling you.”
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
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