Chapter 5 - THE GALA LIST
5
By noon Clara appeared completely calm.
That frightened Martin more than anger would have.
She apologized for arriving during a busy weekend.
She accepted his explanation that a “software duplication” had caused the problem with Suite 904.
She even told him she intended to leave after Daniel’s anniversary the following morning.
Martin relaxed gradually.
Clara watched it happen.
People who believed they had successfully lied often became generous.
Martin offered champagne.
Complimentary spa services.
A private driver.
Clara refused everything except access to the gala.
“That’s unnecessary,” Martin said.
“I own the ballroom.”
Martin smiled tightly.
“Of course.”
At 4 p.m., Clara sat with Rebecca, Patrick and Lupita inside an unused conference room.
On the table was the gala guest list.
Seven hundred and twelve attendees.
Patrick had identified twenty-three names marked internally with a tiny gold symbol.
“What does it mean?” Clara asked.
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca examined hotel records.
“All twenty-three have stayed here before.”
“High-value guests?”
“Extremely.”
One was a pharmaceutical executive.
Another controlled a major pension fund.
Three were politicians.
Two were judges.
Five represented investment firms.
One was a television network president.
Patrick opened the surveillance archive.
Twenty-one of the twenty-three had folders inside Room 917.
Lupita looked sick.
“They invited their victims back.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
She pointed at two names without files.
“They invited new targets too.”
At 5:10, Lily entered wearing a blue dress and holding Daniel’s old stuffed rabbit.
Clara smiled despite herself.
“Look at you.”
Lily twirled.
“Ms. Helen said I can have chocolate cake.”
“Ms. Helen is dangerous.”
Helen laughed from the doorway.
Lily noticed the papers.
“Are you working?”
“A little.”
“On Daddy’s hotel?”
Clara paused.
She had never called the Grand Regent Daniel’s hotel.
Yet Lily often associated their travel with him.
“Something like that.”
Lily climbed into Clara’s lap.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“A man asked me about Daddy.”
The room went silent.
Clara kept her voice gentle.
“What man?”
“In the elevator.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Helen frowned.
“She was never alone.”
Lily nodded.
“You were talking to the lady at the coffee place.”
“What did he look like?”
“Old.”
“How old?”
Lily shrugged.
“Like Grandpa old.”
Clara almost smiled.
“What did he say?”
Lily squeezed the rabbit.
“He asked if Daddy ever told me about the red door.”
Clara’s smile vanished.
Rebecca leaned closer.
“What red door?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara asked Lily, “What did you tell him?”
“I said Daddy told me not to talk to strangers.”
Despite the fear rising inside her, Clara kissed her forehead.
“Perfect.”
“What did the man do?”
“He said Daddy was smart.”
“Anything else?”
Lily nodded.
“He said, ‘Tell your mommy Daniel kept the promise.’”
Clara and Rebecca exchanged a look.
“Did he give you anything?”
Lily opened the stuffed rabbit’s small Velcro pocket.
Inside was a brass coin.
Clara took it.
One side showed the old Grand Regent logo.
The other side had the number 17.
Lupita gasped.
“I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
“What is it?”
“The old employee lockers in basement level two used tokens instead of keys.”
Patrick nodded.
“They were removed during renovation.”
“Where are the lockers now?”
Patrick hesitated.
“Behind the old laundry room.”
At 5:45, Clara and Rebecca entered basement two with Patrick.
Rows of abandoned lockers remained behind stacks of banquet chairs.
Seventeen was rusted shut.
Patrick pried it open.
Inside was a red leather notebook.
Daniel’s initials were pressed into the cover.
Clara recognized it immediately.
He used those notebooks throughout their marriage.
Inside were dates.
Names.
Payments.
Locations.
And one sentence circled repeatedly.
THE RED DOOR IS NOT IN CHICAGO.
Rebecca frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Clara turned pages.
Denver.
Seattle.
Boston.
New York.
Every city contained one of Vance Regent Hospitality’s flagship properties.
“Room 917 isn’t the only site,” Clara said.
Rebecca slowly sat down.
“No.”
Clara kept turning pages.
The same unusual vendor appeared repeatedly.
Red Door Consulting LLC.
Payments totaled more than twenty-eight million dollars over six years.
Clara felt physically ill.
Her company had funded the network.
At the back of the notebook, Daniel had written a list of seven hotel names.
Chicago had a checkmark.
Denver had a question mark.
Seattle had a checkmark.
Boston had two question marks.
Beneath the list:
ROLAND BUILT THE SYSTEM BEFORE CLARA BUILT THE COMPANY.
Clara stared at the words.
“That’s impossible.”
Rebecca looked up.
“Why?”
“Roland and I started together.”
“Did you?”
Clara frowned.
Eleven years earlier, Roland had appeared at exactly the moment her first hotel was failing.
He knew lenders.
He knew investors.
He knew contractors.
He knew how to acquire distressed properties remarkably cheaply.
Clara had always believed he was brilliant.
Now another possibility appeared.
“What if he wasn’t helping me build hotels?” Clara whispered.
Patrick understood.
“What if he was using you to acquire buildings?”
Clara looked down at the list.
Places where wealthy people slept.
Places where cameras could disappear behind walls.
Places where executives held confidential meetings.
Places where politicians met donors.
Hotels were not merely businesses.
They were access.
At 6:03 p.m., the basement door opened.
Everyone froze.
Grant Vaughn, head of security, entered.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Gray suit.
He looked at Patrick.
Then Rebecca.
Then Clara.
“What are you doing down here?”
Clara closed Daniel’s notebook.
“Looking for an old bottle of wine.”
Vaughn smiled.
“This is laundry storage.”
“I noticed.”
His eyes shifted to the open locker.
Then back to Clara.
“Ms. Vance, Mr. Hale was asking for you.”
“I’ll be upstairs shortly.”
Vaughn did not move.
Clara stared at him.
“Was there something else?”
“No.”
He smiled again.
“I simply prefer knowing where important guests are.”
“I’m not a guest.”
The smile faded.
Clara walked directly past him.
Rebecca followed.
Patrick stayed behind for a moment.
Vaughn leaned close.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Patrick looked at him.
“My brother said the same thing about trusting you.”
Vaughn’s face changed.
Patrick hurried after Clara.
By the time they reached the elevator, Clara already knew their cover was damaged.
Vaughn had seen the locker.
He had seen the notebook.
Roland would know soon.
The elevator doors began closing.
Then Vaughn shouted from down the hallway.
“Stop that elevator!”
Patrick hit the close button.
The doors shut.
Clara looked at Rebecca.
“Our timetable just changed.”
“How much?”
Clara checked her watch.
May you like
The gala began in fifty-seven minutes.
“Everything happens tonight.”
