Chapter 2 - THE RESERVATION THAT CHANGED EVERYTHINGPatrick stared at the screen.
Then at Clara.
Then back at the screen.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard as though touching another key might somehow undo what he had just discovered.
“Suite 904,” he repeated. “Corporate reservation. Confirmed two weeks ago.”
Karl’s arms slowly uncrossed.
Clara said nothing.
She simply shifted Lily higher against her shoulder and glanced down at the bouquet of roses pressed awkwardly against her coat.
For several seconds, Patrick seemed to search for the correct expression.
Embarrassment.
Fear.
Apology.
None of them arrived quickly enough.
“Well,” he finally said, forcing a thin smile, “it appears there was a system issue.”
Lupita looked at him.
“No,” she said quietly. “There was a people issue.”
Karl turned sharply.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Lupita picked up the towels she had placed on the cart.
“This woman told you she had a reservation. You decided what kind of guest she was before you even looked properly.”
Patrick’s cheeks reddened.
Clara watched him carefully.
She had built seven hotels.
She knew reservation software.
She knew the Grand Regent’s property-management system better than Patrick did.
The secondary corporate tab was not hidden.
It was not difficult to access.
He simply had not bothered until Lupita challenged him.
“Can I have the key?” Clara asked.
Patrick moved quickly now.
“Of course. Absolutely.”
He typed.
Then stopped again.
Something else had appeared on the screen.
His face changed.
“What?” Karl whispered.
Patrick leaned closer.
Clara could see only a portion of the monitor reflected against the polished marble.
A red internal note.
VIP OWNER HOLD.
Patrick’s lips parted.
He clicked it.
Then another line appeared.
AUTHORIZED BY: C. VANCE — CHAIRWOMAN, VANCE HOSPITALITY GROUP.
Patrick made a small sound.
Not quite a gasp.
Karl stepped beside him.
Then his face drained too.
Clara closed her eyes for one second.
So it had happened.
She had hoped to reach her room, put Lily to bed, and address the staff behavior privately the next morning.
Now there was no avoiding it.
Patrick looked at her.
“You’re…”
Clara met his eyes.
“Yes.”
Karl stared.
“The Clara Vance?”
“I’m not aware of another one who owns this hotel.”
Lupita stopped moving.
Her eyes widened.
Patrick looked as if the marble counter might suddenly open and swallow him.
“Ms. Vance, I—I sincerely apologize.”
Clara looked down at Lily.
The child slept through all of it.
“Keep your voice down, please.”
Patrick lowered it instantly.
“I had no idea.”
“That,” Clara said, “is exactly the problem.”
His mouth closed.
“You shouldn’t need to know who someone is before deciding they deserve basic respect.”
Karl stepped forward.
“There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No.”
Clara looked at him.
“There was no misunderstanding.”
Karl swallowed.
“You mocked me.”
She shifted the roses.
“You suggested I was trying to pressure you into giving me a room I hadn’t paid for.”
Neither man answered.
Clara continued.
“And when I asked to speak to the general manager, you refused to call him.”
Patrick’s face tightened.
“Mr. Halbrook is dealing with the charity gala upstairs.”
“Call him.”
Patrick reached for the phone.
Lupita quietly turned away.
Clara noticed.
“Lupita.”
The housekeeper looked back.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please stay.”
Lupita hesitated.
“I’m technically supposed to be on twelve.”
“I know.”
That surprised her.
Clara nodded toward the embroidered number on Lupita’s housekeeping cart.
“I also know you stepped away from your job because you saw someone who needed help.”
Lupita looked uncomfortable.
“I only did what anybody should do.”
Clara’s voice softened.
“Yes.”
“That’s why it matters.”
Patrick whispered into the phone.
A minute later, hurried footsteps echoed across the lobby.
A tall man in his late forties emerged from the ballroom corridor.
Graham Halbrook.
General manager.
His tuxedo jacket was buttoned perfectly.
His silver tie was immaculate.
His expression was not.
He saw Clara.
Then Patrick.
Then Karl.
Then Lupita.
His face turned pale.
“Ms. Vance.”
Clara watched him approach.
“I wasn’t aware you were arriving tonight.”
“I know.”
“If corporate had informed me—”
“I asked them not to.”
Graham stopped.
Clara had hired him eighteen months earlier.
On paper, he was excellent.
Revenue was up.
Online ratings were strong.
Labor costs were low.
The Grand Regent had just reported its best quarter in six years.
That was why she had come unannounced.
Perfect numbers always made Clara curious.
“How was your flight?” Graham asked.
“Three hours late.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My daughter’s exhausted.”
“Of course.”
He glanced toward Patrick.
“We’ll have your suite prepared immediately.”
“It should already be prepared.”
Graham hesitated.
“Yes.”
Clara looked at him.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“If I weren’t Clara Vance, what would happen right now?”
Graham said nothing.
“If I were just a tired mother carrying a sleeping child, with a valid reservation your employees couldn’t be bothered to find, what would happen?”
His jaw tightened.
“I’d hope my staff would—”
“You don’t need to hope. You just watched what they did.”
Karl looked at the floor.
Patrick was nearly trembling.
Clara turned toward Lupita.
“You were the only one who helped me.”
Lupita shook her head.
“I’m sure someone else would have.”
“No.”
Clara looked around the gleaming lobby.
The chandeliers.
The polished brass.
The marble imported from Italy.
The fresh flowers that cost more each week than Lupita probably earned in a month.
“No one else did.”
Graham stepped forward.
“Ms. Vance, I take full responsibility.”
“Good.”
His expression faltered.
“Because tomorrow morning, you’re going to explain to me why your most expensive property has employees who behave like this.”
Patrick inhaled.
“Am I being fired?”
Clara looked at him.
“No.”
He blinked.
Karl looked up.
Clara’s voice stayed even.
“Not tonight.”
Relief moved across Patrick’s face too quickly.
Then Clara added, “Tonight, you’re going to finish your shift.”
His relief disappeared.
“You’re going to greet every guest who walks through that door exactly the way you should have greeted me.”
Patrick swallowed.
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we talk.”
Clara turned to Karl.
“You too.”
Karl’s mouth tightened.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Graham gestured toward a bellman.
“I’ll personally escort you upstairs.”
“No.”
Everyone looked at Clara.
She nodded toward Lupita.
“She will.”
Lupita froze.
“Me?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Lupita glanced at Graham.
Then back at Clara.
“I’d be honored.”
They took the elevator to the ninth floor.
Lupita carried Clara’s bag.
Clara carried Lily.
The roses were awkward between them.
Inside the suite, the city glittered beyond the windows.
Lupita pulled back the blanket on the bed.
Clara gently laid Lily down.
The little girl stirred.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
“Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Daddy flowers?”
Clara swallowed.
“Yes.”
Lily opened one sleepy eye toward Lupita.
“Hi.”
Lupita smiled.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Lily hugged her stuffed rabbit.
Then fell asleep again.
Clara tucked the blanket around her.
When she turned, Lupita was quietly setting the roses into a vase.
“You remembered the vase,” Clara said.
Lupita glanced back.
“You said they were important.”
Clara looked at the flowers.
“They’re for my husband.”
Lupita immediately understood.
“I’m sorry.”
“Three years tomorrow.”
“My husband died eight years ago.”
Clara looked at her.
Lupita touched the wedding band she still wore.
“Some dates never become normal.”
“No.”
They stood together in silence.
Then Clara noticed Lupita’s hand.
Her knuckles were red and swollen.
“You’re injured.”
Lupita quickly lowered it.
“Just arthritis.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“I’m fine.”
“You hesitated.”
Lupita smiled tiredly.
“Hotels teach you not to complain.”
The sentence stayed with Clara.
Hotels teach you not to complain.
“What do you mean?”
Lupita’s eyes shifted toward the door.
“Nothing.”
“Lupita.”
The housekeeper hesitated.
Then shook her head.
“You’ve had a long day.”
“So have you.”
“It isn’t my place.”
Clara stepped closer.
“Tonight you made it your place when you thought someone was being treated unfairly.”
Lupita’s expression changed.
Clara lowered her voice.
“Let me return the favor.”
For several seconds Lupita said nothing.
Then she whispered, “People here are scared.”
“Of Graham?”
Lupita looked away.
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.”
Silence.
Clara felt something tighten inside her.
“What is happening in my hotel?”
Lupita breathed slowly.
“Hours disappear from paychecks.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
“Overtime.”
Lupita’s voice grew quieter.
“Housekeepers are told to clock out and finish rooms off the clock.”
Clara’s expression hardened.
“That is illegal.”
“Yes.”
“Who ordered it?”
Lupita did not answer.
Clara already knew.
“Graham?”
“He says labor targets come from corporate.”
“They don’t.”
Lupita looked at her.
Clara felt cold anger spreading through her chest.
“What else?”
“People who complain lose shifts.”
“Anything else?”
Lupita hesitated.
Then she said something Clara had not expected.
“Two employees disappeared from the schedule last month after asking questions about the gala accounts.”
Clara frowned.
“What gala accounts?”
Lupita looked toward the door again.
“The ballroom charity events.”
“What about them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
Lupita’s voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I know the numbers never make sense.”
Clara stared at her.
Downstairs, hundreds of Chicago’s wealthiest people were attending the Grand Regent Children’s Medical Foundation Gala.
An event expected to raise more than four million dollars.
Clara had personally approved use of the hotel ballroom at cost.
“What numbers?”
“Catering invoices.”
Lupita rubbed her aching hand.
“Flowers. Entertainment. Security. Things arrive under one price, then appear internally under another.”
“How do you know?”
“My niece works in accounting.”
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“Where is she?”
Lupita went still.
“She was one of the employees removed from the schedule.”
“When?”
“Six days ago.”
“Why?”
“She copied something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Lupita looked frightened now.
“She called me afterward and said she had made a mistake.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Clara’s pulse quickened.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“She hasn’t answered her phone in four days.”
The anger inside Clara disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
Fear.
“Did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“They said she’s an adult. No evidence of a crime.”
“What’s her name?”
“Marisol Vega.”
Clara reached for her phone.
Then stopped.
Graham knew she had arrived.
If something illegal was happening inside the Grand Regent, making calls through hotel systems would be a mistake.
She looked toward Lily.
Sleeping peacefully.
Clara had come to Chicago expecting to inspect a hotel.
Instead, she might have walked into something much larger.
She looked back at Lupita.
“Do not tell anyone we had this conversation.”
Lupita nodded.
Clara closed the suite door.
Then locked it.
Downstairs, the charity gala continued beneath crystal chandeliers.
Champagne flowed.
Politicians smiled for photographs.
Donors wrote checks.
And somewhere behind the polished luxury of Clara Vance’s most successful hotel, someone had been stealing money.
Possibly much more than money.
Clara looked at her sleeping daughter.
For the first time that night, she understood something.
Patrick and Karl humiliating her in the lobby had not been the real problem.
May you like
They had merely been the first crack in a wall.
And now Clara intended to find out what was hidden behind it.
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