I dressed like a homeless man and walked into my own restaurant to see how my employees treated people who couldn’t afford a decent meal. I expected some unfriendly attitudes and perhaps a few rude remarks. Instead, I uncovered something so alarming that I eventually had to contact the police

“You shouldn’t have had to choose between speaking up and protecting your family. I should have listened.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept thinking about Harold.

Mrs. Zielinski.

The missing donation jar.

And my mother’s smiling photograph hanging above the register.

Eventually, Marcy turned on the bedside lamp.

“Ray, what’s bothering you?”

I told her everything.

When I finished, she looked at me.

“Then fire Trevor.”

“Based on what? He’ll deny everything, show me his financial reports, and claim the complaints are from unhappy customers.”

“Then go see for yourself.”

“He knows what I look like. Everyone will behave perfectly if I walk through the door.”

I went quiet.

Then an idea occurred to me.

“What if they didn’t recognize me?”

Marcy stared at me.

“Ray, what are you planning?”

“I want to find out how they treat someone who can’t afford an expensive meal.”