The second he saw Harold, his grin faltered. You again? Back for the eggs? Harold didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the middle of the diner and tapped his spoon gently against his coffee cup.
The soft metallic ring drew curious looks from every booth. Conversations quieted, forks paused. Denise froze mid-step, her eyes darting toward him.
Morning, everyone. Harold began, his voice calm but firm. I think it’s time you all know who I really am.
Ross chuckled nervously. What? You writing a book or something? Harold’s gaze locked on him. No, I own this diner.
The room went dead silent. A fork clattered onto a plate. Denise’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock.
For years, nobody knew the old man at the corner booth was the one signing their paychecks. Ross barked out a laugh, though his face had drained pale. You, you’re joking.
Harold pulled a folder from under his jacket and placed it on the counter. Pages spilled out, misconduct reports, financial sheets, photocopied register logs. I’ve watched long enough.
I know what you’ve been doing, Ross. Every false report you filed against Denise. Every dollar you skimmed from the register.
And I know what you did to her hand. Gasps rippled through the diner. Customers turned in their seats.
The two women from the business table whispered. I knew it. I knew he was dirty.
Ross stammered, his voice cracking. This, this is ridiculous. You can’t prove.
Before he could finish, two uniformed officers walked through the door. Harold had called them that morning. Their presence alone silenced the room.
Ross’s bravado shattered. Wait, you can’t. This isn’t…
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