Roland hesitated.
That hesitation told her more than his answer.
“We’re nearly full.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
A voice interrupted them.
“Mr. Price?”
Everyone turned.
A bellman had approached with a well-dressed young man and woman.
The man wore a tailored navy suit.
The woman was filming the lobby with her phone.
Roland’s expression transformed immediately.
“Mr. Laurent. Welcome back.”
He stepped around the desk personally.
The young man grinned.
“Good to see you, Roland.”
“Your suite is ready. We’ve moved you to the Presidential East Suite.”
“Seriously?”
“Compliments of the hotel.”
Naomi looked at the receptionist.
Then at Roland.
“Nearly full?”
He heard her.
His jaw tightened.
The young couple disappeared toward the elevators.
Naomi turned back to him.
“You just upgraded someone.”
“That is unrelated to your situation.”
“So rooms are available.”
“That particular guest has a long-standing relationship with the property.”
“And I have a paid reservation.”
“Which, as we’ve explained, was cancelled.”
“Without my permission.”
Roland lowered his voice.
“Ms. Reed, I understand that you’re frustrated.”
“No. You understand that I’m asking questions.”
Several nearby guests had begun listening.
Roland noticed.
His voice became even softer.
“We are trying to resolve this discreetly.”
Naomi almost smiled.
“Then resolve it.”
He stared at her.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally he turned to the receptionist.
“Find something on the lower floors.”
She began typing.
Roland looked back at Naomi.
“We can offer you a standard room tonight.”
“I paid for an executive room.”
“The rate difference can be refunded.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Then I’m not sure what you expect us to do.”
Naomi looked around the lobby.
The pianist kept playing.
A waiter crossed the marble floor carrying champagne.
A doorman laughed with a guest.
Everything appeared perfect.
That, she thought, was the problem.
Perfection was easy when everyone knew they were being watched.
“I’ll take the standard room,” she said.
Roland seemed surprised.
“Very good.”
“But I want written confirmation that the hotel cancelled my original reservation.”
His face hardened.
“We don’t normally provide internal documentation.”
“Then write down what you just told me.”
“There is no need.”
“There is for me.”
The receptionist stopped typing.
Roland leaned slightly closer.
“Ms. Reed, we are offering you accommodation despite tonight’s circumstances. I suggest we don’t make this more complicated than necessary.”
There it was again.
Not an insult.
Not a threat.
Something cleaner.
Something practiced.
Naomi nodded.
“Room number?”
Room 214 overlooked an alley.
The heating rattled.
The carpet near the window was stained.
A lamp beside the bed didn’t work.
Naomi placed her suitcase on the luggage rack and sat quietly for several minutes.
The room itself didn’t matter.
What mattered was that it existed in the same hotel where another guest had just received a complimentary presidential upgrade.
She opened her laptop.
There were already three messages waiting.
The first came from her attorney.
The second came from the investment committee.
The third came from a name she didn’t recognize.
Mara Velez. Housekeeping.
The message contained only six words.
Please don’t leave before tomorrow morning.
Naomi stared at it.
Then someone knocked.
She closed the laptop.
“Who is it?”
“Housekeeping.”
Naomi opened the door.
A woman around thirty-five stood outside holding two towels.
Her dark hair was tied back, and she wore the gray uniform of the housekeeping department.
“Extra towels,” she said.
“I didn’t request any.”
“I know.”
Naomi stepped aside.
The woman entered, closed the door behind her, and immediately looked frightened.
“You’re Naomi Reed.”
“Yes.”
“You’re really her?”
Naomi said nothing.
The woman swallowed.
“I saw your picture once. In an investor newsletter.”
Naomi’s attention sharpened.
“What’s your name?”
“Mara.”
“You sent the message?”
Mara nodded.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Why did you think I would?”
“Because I sent the complaint.”
Naomi stood very still.
The original anonymous complaint had included dates, employee schedules and enough internal information to suggest the writer worked inside the property.
“You?”
“Some of it.”
“Some?”
“Other employees helped.”
Mara looked toward the door.
“No one wanted their name attached.”
“Why?”
“You haven’t met everyone yet.”
“I met Roland Price.”
Mara gave a humorless laugh.
“He’s only part of it.”
She removed a folded piece of paper from beneath the towels.
Naomi unfolded it.
It was a staff checklist.
Most of the language was ordinary.