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

I caught a glimpse of a small black electronic device.

She passed the card through it before processing the payment normally.

The entire movement took only a moment.

Then Brittany smiled.

“Thank you, Mrs. Whitlock. Enjoy your afternoon.”

I recognized the behavior.

After nearly twenty years in restaurants, I’d attended numerous payment-security training sessions.

What I’d witnessed strongly suggested someone was secretly collecting customers’ card information.

Then I noticed Trevor glance toward Brittany’s hands.

His expression changed.

“OUT!” he shouted.

He pushed me through the doorway.

I stumbled onto the sidewalk, landing on my knees and hands.

Through the glass, I heard him laugh.

But I barely noticed him.

My thoughts were racing.

Harold Pruitt.

Mrs. Zielinski.

The family that had complained about poor service.

Had customers experienced unauthorized charges after eating at Dolly’s?

Was that why so many regulars stopped returning?

I stood slowly and reached for my phone.