He stopped inches from my chair, leaning over me, his face twisted in rage. You listen to me, you ungrateful little parasite,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.
“I own this restaurant. I own the roof over your head. I own the clothes on your back. You do not hand me a bill. You do not disrespect your mother.
You will take this piece of trash paper. You will throw it in the fire. and you will write me a check for $10,000. If you do not have it, you will wash dishes until you turn 30.” I looked up at him. I did not flinch. The Fair Labor Standards Act does not recognize room and board as a substitute for the state minimum wage when a minor is working 40 to 60 hours a week in a commercial enterprise, I stated, quoting the law with clinical precision.
Furthermore, the state department of labor imposes severe penalties for failing to keep accurate time records for underage employees. The fines alone would bankrupt this establishment. The $85,000 I am requesting is actually a generous discount. Get out, Brenda shrieked from the other end of the table. She stood up, her face a mask of panicked fury.
Get out of this room. Get out of our house. You are dead to us until you apologize and pay what you owe. Brandon jumped up, eager to reclaim his position as the favored child. Yeah, get out, Lizzy.
You are insane. Go sleep on the street and see how much your spreadsheets help you then. Richard pointed a shaking finger toward the heavy oak doors of the private dining room. You heard your mother. You are evicted.
Leave the keys to the house on the table. Do not come back until you are ready to be a respectful member of this family. They wanted me to break. They expected me to burst into tears, to fall to my knees, to beg for my bed in my security. They thought the threat of homelessness would force me to surrender my leverage and accept their $10,000 invoice. I simply nodded.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the brass key to their sprawling suburban house, and placed it gently on top of the blue folder. I stood up from my chair and smoothed the front of my dress.
I reached over to the spare chair next to me and picked up my custom-built laptop. I secured it firmly under my arm.
“Goodbye, Richard. Goodbye, Brenda,” I said, my voice steady and clear.
