Love Irresistibly (FBI/US Attorney #4)(66)
That certainly didn’t make Brooke feel any better about the situation. “When do you plan to talk to him?”
“He should be at the restaurant now,” Keith said. “Figured I would get this over with before the weekend.”
Agreeing with that, Brooke counseled Keith on the various questions he should—and more important, should not— ask when he interviewed the general manger. When they’d finished, and Keith had left to head out to the United Center, Brooke went to see Ian in his office.
She knocked on his door. “Got a minute?”
Sitting in front of his computer, he waved her in. “Absolutely. Just checking out the Bears’ schedule in advance of your big meeting and making sure I have all the home games on my calendar. Kidding.” He paused when he saw her expression. “Oh, boy. I know that look.” He turned in his chair and faced her, never one to beat around the bush. “Tell me.”
“We think Dave Lyons has been stealing from the Stadium Club.”
Ian’s expression went from surprise to disbelief. “No way. Dave and I have known each other for years. He was the manager I hired to run my first restaurant.” He shook his head. “There must be some mistake.”
“Keith is heading over to the United Center now to talk to him. But he’s already done an internal audit and it looks pretty incriminating,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry, Ian. Keith said he’s hearing rumors about Dave possibly having some financial issues, maybe a gambling problem. But that part is just speculation at this point.”
“Aw, hell.” Ian ran a hand over his face. “I knew about his gambling habit, but he never said anything to me about having money problems.” After a moment, he looked at her. “How much do you think he took?”
“Roughly fifty thousand dollars.”
Ian went silent, hearing that. “All right,” he finally said, his tone having turned noticeably more businesslike. “Assuming this turns out to be true, what are our options? I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, because I probably shouldn’t give a crap what happens to Lyons, but . . . I don’t know, if it is a gambling thing, can we have him resign quietly and then work out some kind of private arrangement? He gets himself into Gamblers Anonymous and agrees to pay the company back every penny, that kind of thing?”
And this was one of the reasons Brooke believed in Ian, both as a person and as a CEO. Even when he’d likely been stabbed in the back by someone he’d considered a friend, he cared.
Unfortunately, that didn’t change the fact that their hands were tied in this particular instance. And, as general counsel, it was her responsibility to advise Ian of that. “If it were one of Sterling’s independent restaurants, that might be something we could consider. But the United Center owns the Stadium Club, and as part of our contract with them we’re obligated to report all known instances of employee theft to the police.”
And the news didn’t get any better as the afternoon progressed.
Two hours later, Keith called Brooke from the Stadium Club to let her know that he’d met with Dave, and that the general manager had broken down and admitted everything. Over the course of the last six months he’d lost a significant amount of money in gambling, a fact he’d kept from all his friends and family. Not knowing where to turn, he’d started pocketing cash from the restaurant’s POS machine—small amounts at first, and then he’d grown bolder in his desperation.
Hearing the whole story just made Brooke feel . . . bad. For once, she thought she’d actually prefer another oops-I-hired-a-murderer moment. At least with that one, she’d been able to laugh eventually.
“Dave’s in pretty bad shape,” Keith said. “As soon as I confronted him, he started crying. Sobbing, actually. I think part of him is relieved to have gotten caught—he keeps saying he feels terrible for doing this to Ian. I assume you want me to call CPD and let the police handle this from here?”
Brooke tiredly ran a hand through her hair. That would be the normal procedure, yes. And she knew what would happen from there: two Chicago police officers—likely detectives from the financial crimes unit given the amount at stake—would show up at the Stadium Club, throw Dave Lyons in handcuffs, and then would very publicly escort him out of the restaurant.
Unless . . .
She debated for a half second, and then thought about whether she would pick up the phone and call Cade if they were simply friends and not sleeping together. When she decided that, yes, she would, that put an end to her hesitation.
“Hold off for a couple of minutes, Keith. Let me make one call before we bring in the cops.” Brooke hung up with the VP of security, then dialed a now-familiar cell phone number.
“Ms. Parker,” Cade answered, his voice low and rich. “An actual phone call instead of a text message—I’m honored.”
“I have a favor to ask of you. Work related.”
Instantly, he turned more serious. “What do you need?”
“We caught one of our general managers stealing,” she said. “To make a long story short, he’s confessed to everything and we’re turning this over to the police. For various reasons, I’d rather not make a spectacle of the guy’s arrest. I was wondering if maybe you had, you know . . . a guy at the Chicago Police Department who could handle this quietly.”