Chapter 2
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
My late husband.
Richard had been gone for fourteen months.
One moment he had been sitting across from me at breakfast, complaining that his coffee was too weak.
Three days later, I was standing beside his hospital bed while a doctor told me there was nothing more they could do.
A stroke.
That was what I had been told.
Sudden.
Unexpected.
Natural.
Now an old bellman was standing in the lobby of one of our hotels holding out a key Richard had apparently given him days before his death.
I closed my fingers around it.
The brass was cold.
“What does it open?”
Thomas glanced toward the manager.
The manager’s name tag read MARTIN COLE.
Martin stepped closer.
“Mrs. Hamilton, Thomas is upset. He’s been having difficulties lately.”
Thomas gave a bitter laugh.
“There it is.”
“What?” I asked.
“The line they use whenever somebody knows too much.”
Martin’s jaw tightened.
“This is completely inappropriate.”
“No,” I said. “What’s inappropriate is an employee trying to stop another employee from speaking to the owner.”
Martin’s face softened immediately.
It was almost impressive how quickly he changed.
“Of course. I only meant that you’ve had a long trip. We can discuss any concerns in the morning.”
Thomas shook his head.
“By morning, it’ll be gone.”
“What will?”
He looked at me.
“Everything.”
The lobby suddenly felt different.
The chandeliers were still glowing.
Guests were still talking.
Suitcases still rolled over the marble floor.
But underneath all that luxury, I felt something ugly moving.
“Show me,” I said.
Martin stepped in front of us.
“Mrs. Hamilton—”
“Move.”
He did.
Thomas headed toward the service elevators.
I followed.
Behind us, I heard Martin speaking quickly into his phone.
I stopped.
“Give me your phone.”
He blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Your phone.”
“Mrs. Hamilton, surely you’re not suggesting—”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
I held out my hand.
“Give it to me.”
He hesitated long enough to tell me everything I needed to know.
Then he placed it in my palm.
The screen was still lit.
A text message had been typed but not sent.
CLEAN B2 NOW. OWNER IS HERE.
My stomach dropped.
Thomas saw it.
“So now you believe me.”
I looked at Martin.
His face had gone gray.
“What’s B2?”
“Storage.”
Thomas laughed again.
“Then you won’t mind if she sees it.”
We entered the service elevator.
Martin tried to follow.
I put my hand against the door.
“No.”
“You can’t go down there alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
I looked at Thomas.
“He’s coming.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed.
For the first time, the polished manager disappeared.
Something colder replaced him.
“Evelyn, you don’t understand what you’re walking into.”
It was the first time he had used my first name.
Not Mrs. Hamilton.
Not ma’am.
Evelyn.
Like we were suddenly equals.
Or enemies.
“That sounded like a threat,” I said.
“It was advice.”
The elevator doors closed between us.
Thomas pressed B2.
Nothing happened.
He nodded at the key in my hand.
“Panel underneath.”
I found a small brass lock beneath the buttons.
The key fit perfectly.
I turned it.
A hidden button lit up.
B2-SECURE.
I pressed it.
The elevator descended.
“Why would Richard give you this key?” I asked.
Thomas stared at the floor.
“Because he stopped trusting the people around him.”
I felt a chill.
“Who?”
Thomas looked at me.
“His brother, for one.”
Daniel.
My brother-in-law.
Vice chairman of Hamilton Grand Hotels.
The man who had stood beside me at Richard’s funeral.
The man who had told me not to worry about business because he would “protect Richard’s legacy.”
The man I was supposed to meet with tomorrow morning.
“You’re mistaken.”
“I wish I was.”
The elevator continued downward.
Thomas spoke quietly.
“Mr. Hamilton started coming here late at night about two months before he died. No driver. No assistant. Sometimes he wore a baseball cap so employees wouldn’t recognize him.”
“Why?”
“He’d gotten complaints.”
“I know about the complaints.”
“No, ma’am. You know about the ones that reached corporate.”
The doors opened.
A narrow concrete hallway stretched ahead.
No carpets.
No chandeliers.
Bare fluorescent lights.
Thomas stepped out.
“These never reached corporate.”
He led me past laundry carts and locked supply closets.
At the end of the corridor stood a steel door.
B2 ARCHIVES.
Thomas pointed at my key.
I unlocked it.
The room beyond looked ordinary at first.
Metal shelves.
Boxes.
Old invoices.
Cleaning supplies.
Then Thomas pushed aside a rolling rack.
Behind it was another door.
No label.
He opened it with a key of his own.
Inside were computers.
Security monitors.
File cabinets.
And shelves filled with hundreds of sealed envelopes.
I stared.
“What is this?”
Thomas walked toward the nearest cabinet.
“Your husband called it the real hotel.”
I picked up one envelope.
A room number was written on the front.
1421.
Inside were photocopies of passports.
Credit cards.
Guest signatures.
A photograph of a man entering his room with a woman.
Another photograph showed the same man arguing in a hallway.
I grabbed another envelope.
Room 908.
More identification.
More photographs.
Printed emails.
A handwritten note.
WILL PAY 20K. DO NOT CONTACT WIFE.
My stomach turned.
“Blackmail?”
Thomas nodded.
“And theft. Fraud. Bribery. Maybe worse.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
I looked around.
“Who runs this?”
“I never knew everyone involved.”
“Richard did?”
“He was trying to find out.”
Thomas walked to a desk in the back.
“He found this room because an assistant manager named Maya Lopez came to him.”
“Where is she?”
Thomas went quiet.
“Thomas.”
“She disappeared.”
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“She stopped coming to work.”
“That happens.”
“She left her purse in her locker.”
A cold pressure formed behind my ribs.
“When?”
“Sixteen months ago.”
Two months before Richard died.
Thomas opened a drawer.
Inside was a red notebook.
He handed it to me.
“Your husband kept this here.”
I opened it.
Richard’s handwriting covered the pages.
Dates.
Names.
Room numbers.
Initials.
D.H.
M.C.
S.R.
Payments.
Board.
Accounts.
And one line underlined three times.
If anything happens to me, Evelyn cannot trust Daniel.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
“No.”
Thomas said nothing.
“No.”
I turned another page.
Richard had written:
Daniel knows about Maya.
Then:
Martin moved files after midnight.
Then:
Someone inside legal is helping them.
My hands trembled.
I wanted to tell Thomas it was fake.
I wanted to accuse him of setting this up.
But I knew Richard’s handwriting.
I knew how he formed the letter E.
I knew the little slash he put through every zero because his father had taught him to do it when he was twelve.
This was his.
A noise came from the hallway.
Thomas turned sharply.
“Someone’s coming.”
The lights went out.
Complete darkness swallowed us.
“Thomas?”
“Don’t move.”
Footsteps.
More than one person.
I heard the outer door open.
A flashlight beam swept across the archive room.
Thomas grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a row of cabinets.
A man’s voice whispered, “Find the notebook.”
Another answered.
“What about Hamilton?”
My blood turned cold.
The first man said, “Mr. Cole said she never makes it back upstairs with anything.”
Thomas’s fingers tightened around my wrist.
I reached into my coat for my phone.
No signal.
Of course.
Underground.
The flashlight moved closer.
I could hear drawers opening.
Boxes hitting the floor.
Then Thomas leaned toward my ear.
“There’s another exit.”
“Where?”
“Behind us.”
We crawled between the cabinets.
My knee struck metal.
The sound rang through the room.
The flashlight snapped toward us.
“Who’s there?”
Thomas shoved open a narrow panel in the wall.
“Go.”
I squeezed through.
A hand grabbed the back of my coat.
I screamed.
Thomas slammed his shoulder into whoever had caught me.
The fabric ripped.
I fell into a dark maintenance tunnel.
Thomas came after me.
Behind us, someone shouted.
We ran.
The tunnel smelled of dust and hot pipes.
My heart hammered so hard I could barely hear.
Thomas pointed ahead.
“Stairs!”
We reached an iron staircase.
He pushed me upward.
“Keep going.”
“What about you?”
“Keep going!”
We climbed.
A door waited at the top.
Thomas tried it.
Locked.
I heard footsteps below us.
Fast.
Closing in.
Thomas swore.
I looked at the brass key still clenched in my hand.
There was another lock beside the door.
I shoved the key in.
Turned.
The lock clicked.
We burst through.
We were inside the hotel kitchen.
Chefs turned in surprise.
A waiter dropped a tray.
“Call security!” I shouted.
Thomas grabbed me.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Security reports to Martin.”
The truth hit me.
We didn’t know who could be trusted.
Then a familiar voice came from behind us.
“Evelyn?”
I turned.
Daniel Hamilton stood in the kitchen doorway wearing a dark suit.
Richard’s younger brother.
My brother-in-law.
His expression was filled with concern.
He looked at my torn coat.
At Thomas.
At the red notebook in my hand.
Then his eyes changed.
Just for one second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
I closed the notebook.
“Richard left it for me.”
Daniel went perfectly still.
May you like
Then he smiled.
And somehow that frightened me more.
