Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Gallery-2
The heavy wooden knock echoed through the silence of Suite 904 like a rhythmic demand. Ethan did not move immediately; instead, he cast a swift, protective glance toward the bedroom door where Lily lay asleep. Satisfied that the sound hadn't disturbed her, he turned back to Lupita.
The housekeeper’s face had drained of color. She instinctively pulled her hands into the pockets of her apron, stepping backward toward the service pantry adjacent to the main living room.
“Don’t tell them I spoke to you,” she whispered hurriedly, her eyes wide with a genuine terror that struck Ethan deeper than any corporate threat ever could. “If Arthur knows I was up here... if he knows what I saved from the old files...”
“Lupita, wait—” Ethan began, but the woman had already slipped quietly through the side service door, her movements silent as a ghost’s. The heavy panel clicked shut behind her, leaving Ethan alone in the dimly lit foyer.
The knock came again. Three measured, deliberate raps.
Ethan walked to the door, paused for a fraction of a second, and swung it open.
Standing in the hallway was a tall, impeccably groomed man in his late fifties. He wore a tailored charcoal-grey tuxedo with a silk bow tie, a white pocket square folded with mathematical precision, and silver cufflinks that caught the soft hallway light. His hair was silver, slicked back perfectly, and his face bore the polished, practiced warmth of a veteran high-end hotel manager.
It was Arthur Pendelton, the General Manager of the Grand Regent Hotel—a man Ethan had personally hired eight years ago to oversee the flagships of his company.
“Ethan,” Arthur said, his voice a rich, resonant baritone that oozed calculated warmth. He stepped forward, opening his arms as if to embrace Ethan, but paused when Ethan remained rooted in place, his expression unyielding. “Good lord, my dear boy! I just heard what happened at the front desk. I am utterly mortified. Absolutely appalled!”
“Are you, Arthur?” Ethan asked quietly, keeping his hand on the edge of the open door.
“Patricia and Karla have already been suspended pending a full disciplinary review,” Arthur said quickly, waving a hand dismissively as if sweeping away insects. “To think that staff members of this establishment would treat my business partner—the very founder of the Regent Group—with such atrocious disrespect! It makes my blood boil, Ethan. If I had known you were arriving tonight—”
“My reservation was made two weeks ago, Arthur,” Ethan said, his voice steady and icy. “Directly through the corporate executive portal. It shouldn't have taken an hour of public humiliation and an intervention from housekeeping for my name to show up on your screens.”
Arthur’s eyes flickered—a brief, almost imperceptible twitch of the eyelid—before his mask of charm slipped back into place. “Ah, yes. The new software integration from the regional server. We’ve been having technical hiccups all week. You know how these IT transitions go. But please, let me make this right. Let me have room service bring up a full hot dinner for you and little Lily. Is she asleep?”
“She is,” Ethan said, refusing to step aside to invite Arthur in. “And I’d like her to stay that way.”
Arthur smiled, though the warmth did not reach his eyes. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Of course, of course. Fatherhood comes first. It’s remarkable, really, how dedicated you are to her. After... well, after everything you went through with Sarah.”
At the mention of his late wife’s name, Ethan’s posture hardened. “What are you doing up here, Arthur? Shouldn't you be downstairs hosting the gala?”
“The gala is running smoothly, as always,” Arthur replied smoothly, resting a hand lightly against the doorframe. “Though, to be frank, your presence downstairs would have sent quite a message to the board of investors. There were... rumors, Ethan. You’ve been living like a recluse in Colorado for three years. People talk. They wonder if you still have the stomach for this business. Some of our major stakeholders from the European syndicate are downstairs right now. They were expecting to see you.”
“I came here for Sarah’s anniversary,” Ethan said, his voice flat. “Not to dance for investors.”
“Naturally,” Arthur nodded sympathetically. “And we all respect your grief, Ethan. Truly, we do. But grief can blind a man to realities. The company has evolved over the last three years. Decisions have had to be made in your absence. Complex, high-stakes decisions.”
“Decisions like trying to reroute my flight out of Denver?” Ethan asked point-blank, fixing Arthur with a piercing look.
Arthur let out a smooth, practiced laugh, though his posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Reroute your flight? My dear Ethan, what on earth are you talking about? The Midwest is caught in a massive high-pressure storm system. Half the flights out of Colorado were grounded today.”
“Lupita seemed to think otherwise,” Ethan said, deliberately floating the name to gauge Arthur’s reaction.
The air between the two men turned instantly brittle. Arthur’s polite smile didn't fade, but his eyes narrowed into two cold slits of calculated assessment.
“Lupita?” Arthur said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. “The housekeeping staff? Ethan, my boy, you are letting exhaustion get the better of you. Lupita is a sweet old woman, but she is... unstable. Grief and age have taken their toll on her. She’s been spreading strange tales among the staff for months. In fact, I’ve been considering retiring her early for her own good.”
“She knew Sarah,” Ethan said softly.
“She was a maid on the floor when Sarah was ill,” Arthur corrected sharply. “Nothing more. Don’t let a confused old woman’s rambling feed into your own exhaustion, Ethan. You’ve had a painful journey. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, after the gala guests have departed, we will sit down in my office, review the annual audits, and discuss the future of the Regent Group.”
Arthur reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulled out an elegant, gold-embossed keycard, and held it out to Ethan. “This is the master key for the private executive lounge on the tenth floor. If you need anything—anything at all—it is at your disposal. Rest well, Ethan.”
Ethan looked at the keycard, then up at Arthur’s face. He took the card without a word.
“Goodnight, Arthur.”
“Goodnight, founder,” Arthur said softly, turning on his heel and walking back down the quiet corridor toward the main elevators.
Ethan closed the door and turned the manual deadbolt. The quiet of the suite settled back around him, but the peace was entirely gone. He walked back into the living room, his mind racing.
Why was Arthur so eager to keep him away from the gala? Why mention the European syndicate? And what did Lupita mean by 'the old files'?
Ethan walked over to the desk near the window. He opened his battered backpack, pulled out his personal phone, and connected it to a secure, encrypted satellite charger. He powered it on. As the screen lit up, a dozen priority notifications flooded his lock screen—all of them from his private security advisor and former military intelligence officer, Marcus Vance, who also happened to be Ethan’s younger brother.
Ethan clicked on the most recent voice message from Marcus and pressed play.
May you like
Marcus’s tense, urgent voice filled the quiet room:
“Ethan, wherever you are, do not trust the internal network at the Grand Regent. I just finished pulling the financial cross-references from the offshore accounts Sarah was looking into right before her accident three years ago. She wasn't just auditing the hotel's revenue, Ethan. She found something built under the foundation. Literally and financially. Get Lily out of that building as soon as you can.”
