I hold my phone, snap a photo of the cabinet. "I'm making a checklist. You'll need to fix this before the critic arrives."
"Anything else, Inspector?"
"Yes." I move to the prep station, point at the cutting boards. "Are these color-coded?"
"They're cutting boards."
"That's a no." I pick one up, examine the knife marks. "You need separate boards for meat, vegetables, and ready-to-eat foods. This one's got score marks deep enough to harbor bacteria."
Maya clears her throat. "I tried to tell him that too."
Rogan shoots her a look. "You're on my side."
"I'm on the side of not getting sued." She grins, unbothered. "Ivy's right. This place is a disaster."
"It's functional."
"It's a health code violation waiting to happen." I flip to a new page, start writing. "Cutting boards. Storage. Do you have a thermometer for the walk-in?"
"Somewhere."
"That's a no." I add it to the list. "What about your supplier invoices? Can you trace every ingredient?"
"I've got receipts."
"Where?"
He gestures vaguely at a cardboard box near the office door. "There."
I walk over, flip open the box. Receipts, napkins, a take-out menu, someone's grocery list, and—I hold up a wrinkled envelope—"Is this from three months ago?"
"Probably my aunt's."
"You need a filing system. If the critic asks where your carrots came from, you can't hand her a box of random paper."
Rogan runs a hand over his face, smearing the tomato paste further. "Okay. Point made. I'm a mess. Happy?"
"Not particularly." I close the box, brush off my hands. "But I'm here to help, not judge."
"Could've fooled me."
Maya coughs, badly hiding a laugh.
I ignore her, pull the seed packet from my satchel. "You said you wanted to use these. Let's see if you can actually grow them first."
Rogan's expression shifts, the defensiveness falling away. He reaches for the packet, handles it carefully. "I've got containers. Soil mix from the co-op."
"Show me."
He leads me to the back door, where he's set up a makeshift growing station. Four large containers, decent drainage, a bag of organic potting mix. It's...not terrible.
"When did you do this?"
"Last night. Couldn't sleep, remember?" He opens the soil bag, scoops some into the first container. "Figured I'd start small. Radishes, maybe some herbs."
I crouch beside the containers, test the soil with my fingers. Loose, decent structure. "This'll work. But you need to water correctly. Too much and they'll rot. Too little and they'll bolt."
"Bolt?"
