“You order here.” He shows me the menu and explains. “The backend processes it, and your drinks arrive within one to seven minutes, depending on what you ordered. Beers, wine, and neat drinks take a minute. The fancier cocktails take up to seven. As for food, our standard serving time is twenty minutes.”
“That’s some operation,” I remark, impressed by how organized it is.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Agafon says and picks a beer from the menu, handing the iPad to me. I quickly pick a wine and submit our order. “Everything was a mess when the bars fell into our hands after Charlie died. There were only six last year in total, and my family thought we’d have to shut them down. But I took out a loan and streamlined processes. I cut costs down, and now we’re not only profitable but have opened 26 new clubs.”
The server arrives with our drinks and straightens immediately on seeing Agafon, and gives us extra attention.
“They're afraid of you,” I observe.
“They respect me,” he corrects. “Charlie ruled by fear. Look where that got him.”
“How bad was it when you took over?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Three pending lawsuits. Suppliers refused delivery until past invoices were paid. Staff turnover was at seventy percent. Health code violations in two locations.” He recites the list like someone else might read off grocery items. “And the books—” He stops, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
“The books?” I prompt.
“There were no books. Just receipts stuffed in shoeboxes and napkins with numbers scribbled on them.” Anger flashes across his face. “Charlie always believed accounting was beneath him.”
I whistle low. “And you fixed all that?”
“I'm still fixing it.” He gestures around. “I plan to grow this chain into a billion-dollar chain of not only clubs, but hotels too.”
I listen, impressed, as Agafon begins to explain the problems he faced and the changes he made to turn the losses around. He’s clearly the driving force behind this whole endeavor, and that couldn’t have been an easy job. The mess Charlie made and left behind would have overwhelmed most people I know into selling. And yet, Agafon remained. He persevered.
“I want to learn,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “About the business. How it all works. Help you, if I can.”
His eyes snap to mine. I hold his gaze.
“Why?” he asks bluntly. I know he’s testing me. I know this means so much to him that he won’t let me in until I prove myself, and I’m all for it.
I straighten in my seat. “Because I've got a degree in business management and we’re married. Because sitting at home, arranging flowers, and waiting for you to come back sounds like my personal hell.”
I see him lean forward, interested in what I have to say.
I continue. “Besides, I’d be an investment.”
“An investment,” he repeats, taking a sip of his drink. “Interesting choice of words.”
I shrug, picking up my own glass. “I'm a quick study. And I notice things. Like how that bartender has been skimming from the register when she thinks no one is looking.”
His eyebrows raise a fraction, and he looks over at the bar. “The blonde?”
I nod. “Three times in the last twenty minutes. Small amounts. Probably thinks you won't notice because it's not enough to trigger concern.”
His eyes return to me. “And how exactly did you spot that?”
“Because I’m observant. Don’t believe me? Check your CCTV!” I take another sip, enjoying the momentary upper hand. “So? Do I pass the interview?”
He nods. “You’re in.”
And then gets up. I don’t need to ask where he’s going. I already know.
***
Two weeks later, I'm bent over spreadsheets, trying to reconcile inventory shipments with sales reports. Faddey, Agafon's brother who manages Thaw's day-to-day operations, walks into my office and looks over my shoulder with obvious amusement.
“Found the discrepancy yet?” he asks.
