Chapter One: A Nine-Dollar Tip

“A six-hundred-twelve-dollar dinner, and nine for you. That's what your service is worth.” At the pass, Ajay whistled. “Remember my promotion when you're the owner, Boss Lin.” The kitchen erupted in laughter. Lin flattened each bill and said nothing. His mother's dialysis payment was $380 short. Pride could not pay a clinic. After closing, Cheng announced that the month's service charges would be delayed for “group cash allocation.” When someone protested, Cheng pointed at the door. As Lin cleared glasses, he saw the cellar keeper wheel two cases of 1945 reserve wine onto a refrigerated truck. They were the restaurant's crown jewels. Moving one bottle normally required two signatures. “Inventory count?” Lin asked.