Chapter 12 - WHO DESERVED THE HOURS.
“Dad loaded.”
Two words.
Maybe written by Trent.
Maybe not.
Maybe shorthand for something unrelated.
Maybe exactly what it sounded like.
Sarah refused to build a conclusion before seeing the notebook.
“That’s frustrating,” Gaby said.
“It should be.”
“Why?”
“Because frustration is often what protects people from turning clues into fantasies.”
Robert liked Sarah more every day.
Gaby did too.
The problem was access.
The notebook belonged to Caldwell.
If it existed.
Denise could not simply steal it.
Sarah was explicit.
“Do not remove company property.”
“What if she photographs it?” Gaby asked.
“I’m not instructing an employee to violate workplace policy or law. She should not put herself at risk. There may be formal ways to request records.”
Robert asked, “Subpoena?”
Sarah gave him a look through the video call.
“We are not there yet.”
“Understood.”
Caldwell’s counsel continued settlement discussions.
They revised the document clause.
Now Gaby would preserve relevant records as required and return original company property through counsel.
Better.
Still no companywide review.
The money remained.
$12,500.
Gaby printed the offer.
She put it beside the motel invoice.
Three nights had become six.
Robert had paid each extension.
Gaby tracked every dollar in a notebook separate from the blue one.
“You’re not repaying me for urgent care,” he said.
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Gaby.”
“Dad.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Finally he said, “We’ll argue about that after you have housing.”
“Fine.”
It was not agreement.
But it was postponement.
A small family skill they both needed.
Evelyn called with news on the apartment.
The court agreed to an expedited hearing on Gaby’s request to reopen the case.
Not a victory.
A chance.
North Bridge’s attorney would oppose it.
“Why?” Gaby asked.
“Because there is already a judgment.”
“But the notice dates—”
“Will be part of the argument.”
Evelyn was careful.
“The judge decides what those facts mean.”
Gaby looked at the calendar.
“When?”
“Thursday.”
Three days.
“What happens if we win?”
“The judgment could be reopened and the underlying dispute reconsidered.”
“And if we lose?”
“We discuss next options.”
“Can I move back in?”
“Not yet.”
Again.
No instant fix.
No dramatic key handed back.
Robert saw how exhausting due process could be when you were the person paying for every extra night of delay.
He wanted to book the motel for a month.
Gaby refused.
“Three days at a time.”
“Why?”
“Because three days feels temporary.”
Robert understood.
He hated understanding.
On Wednesday, Gaby went to a workforce center.
She applied for three jobs.
Hotel breakfast server.
Medical-office receptionist.
Grocery-store customer service.
Robert offered to help with her résumé.
She allowed him to proofread exactly one paragraph.
He changed four words.
She changed two back.
“That sentence is repetitive,” he said.
“It sounds like me.”
“It could sound like you more efficiently.”
“You literally founded a company because nobody wanted you as a manager.”
Robert looked offended.
“That is an oversimplification.”
“So is your edit.”
He left the sentence alone.
That afternoon, Sarah received documents from Caldwell.
Closing checklists.
Supervisor assignments.
Event staffing rosters.
They showed Trent supervised nearly every disputed shift.
Several closing forms were signed after Gaby’s clock-out time.
A July 19 checklist bore Trent’s signature at 1:03 a.m.
One line stated:
FINAL FLOOR WALK COMPLETED WITH CLOSING TEAM.
Sarah circled it.
“Who was the closing team?”
Caldwell had not provided that list.
Gaby’s photo showed at least five employees.
Jamie said he was there.
Denise said she was there.
Timecards showed multiple people clocked out around midnight.
“This is stronger,” Sarah said.
“Does it prove we were working?” Gaby asked.
“Not by itself.”
Robert almost laughed.
Gaby did.
Sarah smiled.
“You’re learning.”
“I hate learning.”
“Good litigation skill.”
The next document was stranger.
A staffing spreadsheet.
Columns:
Employee.
Availability.
Reliability.
Client rating.
Notes.
Gaby’s row:
Availability — Open weekends.
Reliability — 3/5.
Client rating — 4.6/5.
Notes — LIMITED NEED / FLEXIBLE.
Gaby stared.
“Limited need?”
Robert looked at her.
“Could mean they believed you didn’t need many hours.”
“Or something else.”
“Correct.”
They requested explanation.
Caldwell’s counsel replied that “need” referred to scheduling availability and staffing flexibility.
Sarah frowned.
“That explanation may or may not fit.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s already a separate availability column.”
Gaby looked at Robert.
A contradiction.
Not proof.
But a better question.
Then the anonymous number texted again.
No greeting.
No explanation.
One photograph.
A blue notebook open on a desk.
The image was slightly blurred but readable.
Names ran down the left side.
Notes on the right.
Denise — TWO KIDS / NEEDS SAT.
Jamie — SCHOOL / NO THURS.
Tara — SECOND JOB.
Then:
GABY — DAD LOADED / DON’T PRIORITIZE.
Robert stared at it.
Gaby stopped breathing for a second.
Sarah was silent on speaker.
Finally she said, “Do not forward that to anyone except me.”
Gaby whispered, “That’s my name.”
“Yes.”
“And that says—”
“I see it.”
“Can we use it?”
“We need to know where it came from, who wrote it, whether it’s authentic, whether it’s complete.”
Gaby’s voice rose.
“How much more obvious does it need to be?”
Sarah did not react.
“Obvious is not the same as authenticated.”
Gaby stood and walked across the motel room.
Robert stayed silent.
Sarah continued.
“I believe you’re looking at something important. I’m also trying to protect you from having the whole issue dismissed because we rushed.”
Gaby turned.
“What if we never find out who sent it?”
“Then we use what we can verify.”
She sat again.
Robert looked at the photograph.
A rich father.
A broke daughter.
A manager who apparently decided she deserved fewer hours because of money she did not have.
Robert had spent years believing status protected his children.
Now he was staring at a possibility he had never considered.
His wealth may have been used as an excuse to deny his daughter work.
Sarah asked Gaby one final question.
“Do you recognize the handwriting?”
Gaby zoomed in.
She studied the letters.
Then her expression changed.
“What?”
Robert asked.
She pulled out the original payroll notice from Caldwell.
At the bottom, under the printed denial, was a handwritten notation she had never paid much attention to.
Reviewed — TH.
The H had a distinctive long lower stroke.
She placed it beside the photograph.
Same shape.
Maybe.
Not proof.
But close enough to make them all stare.
“Trent Haskell,” Gaby said.
Sarah’s voice came through slowly.
“We need a handwriting comparison before saying more.”
Gaby nodded.
Then another text arrived from the anonymous number.
May you like
This time only four words.
HE KNOWS I COPIED IT.
