Chapter 21: The Gala Doors

Through the kitchen's swinging doors, I could hear six hundred people applaud my chief of staff.

I stood in the service corridor in my gray smock and cap, with a steel serving cart at my elbow.

On the cart sat Desmond's gray cash box, with a white napkin folded over the lid.

The night crew stood in a line behind me, all nine, in their smocks with their sleeves rolled up.

Dot had on her good cardigan and her orthopedic shoes.

Beside her stood the server from the high room, in her black dress, with a phone in her fist.

Reuben was at my shoulder, in the black suit, with an earpiece he had no right to wear.

"Last chance to use the front door," he said.

"The front door is where she expects me."

"The kitchen is where she thinks you work."

"That's why it's perfect."

He straightened my cap.

His thumb brushed my cheek, and then he took his hand away, because we were in front of the people who loved us.

"Boss," he said. "Go take it."

On the other side of the door, Leigh's voice rose, rich and beautiful.

"Thank you all," she said. "Fifty-three years ago my grandfather opened these doors with a dozen slot machines and a dream."

Dot made a noise like a kettle.

"He didn't have a dream," she muttered. "He had a debt."

I peeked through the round window.

The ballroom was gold and white, with a hundred round tables and a chandelier the size of a truck.

Women in silk and men in black ties filled every seat.

At the long head table sat three men in gray suits, one with a ring with a blue stone.

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