Chapter 10 - THE EMPTY PLACE AT THE TABLE
“Only if you want to, sweetheart.”
Sophie looked at me seriously.
Then she took a purple crayon and drew another person beside her father.
The arms were too long.
The legs were different sizes.
The head was enormous.
“There,” she announced.
Rachel laughed.
“That looks just like Mr. Gabe.”
I smiled.
“I hope I look a little better in real life.”
Sophie shook her head.
“Nope.”
For the first time in months, Rachel laughed without immediately becoming sad.
I looked at Daniel's figure in the drawing.
Sophie hadn't replaced her father.
She had simply made room for someone else.
There was a difference.
And I didn't intend to forget it.
That afternoon, Rachel asked me to meet her in the Red Mesa employee dining room.
She placed Daniel's repaired watch on the table.
“I had the clasp fixed.”
I examined it.
The scratched silver case had been polished only slightly.
The original marks remained.
“Why show me?”
“Because Daniel wore this when he started working here.”
She turned the watch over.
On the back were four words.
MAKE EVERY HOUR COUNT.
“His father gave it to him when he finished culinary school,” Rachel explained.
“Daniel wanted to run a restaurant someday. Nothing fancy. Just a place where people working night shifts could get good food without spending their whole paycheck.”
I pictured Daniel standing in a warm kitchen.
Sophie doing homework at a corner table.
Rachel coming in after work.
A life that had been stolen before it could happen.
“He had a notebook full of ideas,” Rachel continued.
“Breakfast sandwiches. Soup. Fresh bread. He was always talking about a little place that stayed open until sunrise.”
“Do you still have the notebook?”
“Yes.”
“Would you show it to me?”
She hesitated.
“Gabriel, I don't want another gift that makes everyone think you're saving us.”
“I understand.”
“Daniel worked hard for everything we had.”
“I know.”
“He would hate being turned into a charity story.”
I nodded.
“Then don't let me turn him into one.”
Rachel studied me.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing yet. I want to hear what you think.”
She looked surprised.
That was another lesson I should have learned years earlier.
Sometimes helping someone means allowing them to make the decision.
Over the next several weeks, Rachel began discussing Daniel's restaurant idea with Elena and several other employees.
They proposed a modest worker-owned café near Red Mesa.
It would serve affordable food to casino employees, taxi drivers, nurses, hotel workers, and anyone else finishing a long shift.
I offered access to a vacant commercial kitchen at a documented fair lease, with start-up financing structured transparently.
Rachel insisted on independent financial advice.
I agreed.
She also insisted that the café not carry my name.
I agreed to that too.
They called it Daniel's Table.
For the first time since his death, Rachel seemed excited about something that belonged to the future.
But my own future was becoming less certain.
The state gaming regulator had opened a formal review of my company's internal controls.
Warren's fraud had operated for years.
My signature appeared on the disciplinary report that damaged Daniel's reputation.
And my executive oversight had been dangerously weak.
The regulators wanted answers.
They were right to want them.
Patricia Wells visited my office three days before the hearing.
“Gabriel, your attorneys believe we can demonstrate that you weren't involved in Warren's scheme.”
“Good.”
“But they also believe you should avoid making statements that suggest you personally approved questionable investigations.”
“I did approve one.”
“You approved a summary. The distinction matters legally.”
“It mattered to Daniel too.”
Patricia sighed.
“I'm not suggesting you lie.”
“I know.”
“I'm suggesting you be precise.”
I looked at the photograph of Red Mesa hanging behind my desk.
“What happens if they conclude I failed my responsibilities?”
“Possible fines. Additional supervision. Restrictions on your authority. In the worst case, licensing consequences.”
I nodded.
She leaned forward.
“Gabriel, don't try to prove your remorse by making an unnecessarily damaging statement.”
“This isn't about proving remorse.”
“Then what is it about?”
I thought of Rachel standing in the office, discovering that my signature had helped destroy Daniel's reputation.
“Making sure the next Daniel Bennett doesn't spend his life trying to reach someone who won't listen.”
At the regulatory hearing, every seat was occupied.
Reporters lined the back wall.
Several former employees attended.
Rachel sat beside Elena.
Sophie stayed with a trusted childcare worker away from the cameras.
I answered questions about internal oversight, vendor screening, and the authority I had delegated to Warren.
Then the lead examiner placed Daniel's disciplinary report before me.
“Mr. Moretti,” she said, “you signed this document?”
“Yes.”
“Did you review the underlying evidence?”
“No.”
“Did you know the employee had attempted to report fraud?”
“No.”
The examiner leaned forward.
“Then explain to this commission why you should continue to hold a gaming license after admitting that your oversight failures allowed serious misconduct to go undetected.”
The room became completely silent.
I looked toward Rachel.
She didn't smile.
She didn't nod.
May you like
She simply waited.
And for the first time in my life, I understood that keeping my empire might require accepting exactly how badly I had failed the people who built it.
