“Aaron wanted to try a few things,” he said.
“Those changes affect supplier payments.”
“She has a fresh perspective.”
“She does not understand the payment schedule.”
His expression hardened.
“Give her a chance.”
Aaron’s confidence grew with every private conversation.
She began correcting newer employees in front of customers. She changed preparation schedules without considering how long the kitchen staff had already worked. She assigned longer shifts and expected people to accept them because she had described herself as the new operational lead.
Employees approached me quietly.
One cook found me near the storage shelves after closing.
“We can’t keep doing these hours.”
“I know.”
“She doesn’t listen.”
“I’m documenting the schedule.”
“Are you still managing this place?”
The question revealed how visible the shift had become.
“I’m still handling the systems that keep it running,” I said.
But that answer did not satisfy either of us.
A few days later, Aaron began reviewing the financial ledger.
She inserted notes into records she had barely examined during the crisis. Several changes moved responsibility for recent expensive orders away from her decisions and toward earlier operating dates.
The alterations were subtle.
Anyone glancing at the ledger might have mistaken them for clerical corrections. I recognized what they were because I had created the original records.
Aaron saw me comparing the entries one afternoon.
“I’m organizing everything properly,” she said.
“The original entries were accurate.”
“They were difficult to follow.”
“For whom?”
Her smile tightened.
“I need the records to make sense now that I’m taking a formal role.”
Her eyes remained on mine long enough for the meaning to become clear.
She wanted the numbers to reflect her version of events.
