Page 79 of The Holy Grail
“You asshole.” Evan gave his brother a look full of disgust, disbelief, and betrayal. “I know I didn’t contribute as much to the renovations, but you’ve been paying yourself twice as much as you’ve been paying me? For seven years?”
“Yes, he has,” Jules confirmed. “And after you had all earned your initial investment back, everyone’s income should have been equalized and adjusted, based on number of hours put into the business, but they weren’t. The only one here making a wage commensurate with their hours is Evelyn, who averages forty hours a week, while Everett averages thirty-three and continues to be grossly overpaid. Evan, who averages sixty hours a week, is grosslyunderpaid, barely making minimum wage—”
“Sixty hours?” Everett stared at Evan. “According to your time cards, you’re only working forty hours a week.”
“Because I didn’t see the point in writing down anything over forty, since I’m a salaried employee and was never going to get paid for it.”
“I didn’t know you were putting in all those extra hours. I would have done something had I known.” Everett sighed heavily. “You should have told me.”
“I thought we wereallputting in extra hours, which is why I didn’t say anything. But apparently I was the only one—and making half the money, too, so now I’m really fucking pissed, especially since I do practically all the clean-up myself every night I work.” Evan got up and stalked over to the bar, where he grabbed a bottle and a shot glass and poured himself a drink. After throwing it back, he poured another one and dispatched it as well.
“Bring that over here, along with a couple more glasses,” Evelyn called out to him. “I think we’re going to need it.”
When Evan returned with the extra shot glasses and the bottle, which turned out to be a $600 bottle of Crown Royal, Everett asked him, “What do you mean you’ve been doing all the clean-up by yourself every night you work?”
Because Evan was busy pouring three drinks, Jules answered for him. “He was sending his staff home right after closing and cleaning up by himself to save money for the bar.”
“Oh, Evan,” Evelyn murmured, before grabbing a shot glass and draining it. “You really should have said something.”
“This from the person who totally ignored me when I said something about our stupid shirts,” he scoffed. “You knew I fucking hated them, but you didn’t pay any attention to that.”
“I didn’t know you hated them—”
“You didn’t? Was I, in any way unclear when I stated ‘I fucking hate them’ when you showed them to me?”
Evelyn poured another drink. “I thought you were just … exaggerating.”
“Well, I wasn’t. And you basically told me to wear one, like it, and shut the fuck up.”
Everett tried to intervene. “The shirts aren’tthatbad—”
“To you, maybe, because you’re not the one in the headlock, getting a fuckingnoogie.”
Jules knew Evan’s anger was fueled more by the pay issue than the shirts, and she needed to get the meeting back on track. After getting everyone’s attention again, she went over all of her findings, pointing out where things were good, but mostly where they were bad. She handed out page after page of her recommendations, showing how streamlining purchasing and cutting back on wasteful spending and inefficiency would increase their profit margin.
“You want us to be closed on Mondays and Tuesdays?” Evelyn asked, surprised.
“Yes. They’re your slowest days, by far, and are basically a money suck. Payroll on those days alone puts you in the red, so you start the week in a deficit, and that’s before you add in utilities and everything else. If you eliminate those two days, your monthly profit increases dramatically.”
Evelyn slowly nodded, followed by Everett and Evan.
“You also need to start staggering your staff better, and rotate closers, to tighten up payroll … which brings me to another issue: time cards.”
“What about them?” Everett wanted to know.
Jules made a face. “Where do I start? The fact you still have your employees filling them out by hand is ridiculous, and can make it easy for some people to be less than honest about their hours … like Lars. He’s been writing in the time he was scheduled to work as his actual hours—forty per week—even when Evan sends him home two hours early, so he’s essentially getting paid for forty hours and working thirty-one, on average.”
“Are you serious?” Evelyn asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Jules answered. “He’s basically been stealing from you for at least six months, maybe longer … and as such, makes as much as Evan does, per hour, especially when you add in all the tips he skimmed from Evan.”
Evan poured himself another drink, muttering, “Goddamn Lars.”
Evelyn’s expression was decidedly unhappy. “He’s been skimming tips, too?”
“Yes. That’s actually what started all this,” Jules explained. “I watched him helping himself to the tip jar one night, and that led to me asking Evan a few questions.”
“I didn’t know all that was happening,” Everett said with a heavy sigh.
