Imani wanted to argue that all Philip needed was to be there for his family. But she knew it wasn’t true. Her husband valued the people who worked for him in the same way that she considered her own dear friends, she supposed. He could no less ignore a loyal employee’s predicament than she could forget about Melissa’s disappearance.

The last of Imani’s objections evaporated in a long exhale. “Only a month of this labor-for-rent arrangement, though, okay? You don’t need an indentured servant. If she can’t start paying a reasonable rent in a month, she has to go elsewhere.”

Philip pulled her in for a tight hug. “I love your heart.”

Imani collapsed into him. She’d given in not because of her heart but because of insufficient energy. After everything that had happened, she lacked the stamina for a long, emotional argument. It was easier to let Philip do what he wanted and hope to God he was right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TONYA

Ask ten diners what the worst job in a restaurant is, nine of them will say washing the dishes. Before Tonya had landed the gig with Banque Gauche, she might have made the same mistake, imagining a group of low-paid workers in rubber gloves, elbow-deep in soapy, food-particle-filled water, wiping grimy sponges over dinner plates. She’d since learned better.

Doing the dishes wasn’t nearly as messy as people imagined. More than anything, it was a sorting and loading exercise. Plates were blasted by a power hose capable of sending all food scraps into a sink strainer. After, they were racked and pushed into a massive stainless-steel contraption that sanitized them with chemicals and boiling hot water.

The grossest and perhaps most dangerous kitchen roles were cleaning the equipment. Grills. Meat grinders. Ovens. Everything had to be washed, sprayed with chemicals, and descaled by hand. In some cases, as with the grinders, the machines needed to be partially disassembled for proper sanitization and then reassembled before the next service. The scraps inside many of the cutting machines weren’t even cooked. Whoever got the job needed to wipe raw, extruded proteins out of holes and gears, then dry each piece, and then rewipe them down with food oil to guard against rust. It was a dirty, greasy, labor-intensive job.

Fortunately, Tonya didn’t have to do that one. At least, not yet. Philip was taking it easy on her. In addition to the dishes, he’d asked only that she mop the floors and squeegee the outside of the walk-in fridge.

The first task had been pretty much done by the end of dinner service. As the meals were all takeout, the plates and cutlery were recyclable one-use items thrown into bags. Only the pots, pans, and cooking utensils had required washing.