Chapter 4 - Room 304
By eight o'clock the following morning, the sun was rising over Manhattan, casting a cold, metallic glare across the city's concrete canyons. I didn't sleep a single minute. Instead, I spent the morning in my private gym, sweating out the lingering anger, before putting on a dark tailored suit and meeting Frank Miller in the underground garage of Ellison Tower.
"We ran the key, Marcus," Frank said, opening the door of my armored SUV. "Room 304 at the Grand Regency isn't registered under Diana Caldwell's name. It’s leased under an offshore entity called Aegis Holdings LLC."
"Who owns Aegis?" I asked, sliding into the back seat.
"That's the interesting part," Frank replied, stepping into the driver's seat and starting the engine. "The registered agent for Aegis is a law firm out of Zurich, but the primary utility bills for that apartment are being paid from an account tied to Julian Vance."
I froze. "Julian Vance? Arthur’s younger brother?"
"The very same," Frank said, pulling the SUV out onto the quiet Sunday morning streets. "Julian Vance was ousted from Vance & Sterling five years ago for insider trading and market manipulation. He vowed to destroy Arthur and take down every major client Arthur represented—including Ellison Enterprises."
The pieces were beginning to stitch together into a terrifying tapestry. Diana hadn't just targetted me at random. She was an operative planted by Julian Vance to infiltrate my life, extract high-level intelligence on my upcoming defense contract, and ruin my company while simultaneously liquidating my assets.
Ten minutes later, Frank parked the SUV in the discreet delivery lane behind the Grand Regency Hotel. Thanks to my firm's security connections and a substantial financial holding in the hotel's parent company, the general manager met us at the service elevator without asking a single question.
"Room 304 is down this hall, Mr. Ellison," the manager whispered, handing me a electronic master passkey. "No one has entered or exited since yesterday afternoon. Shall I have security accompany you?"
"No," I said firmly. "Frank and I will handle this. Stay by the elevator."
We walked down the dimly lit, carpeted hallway of the third floor. The Grand Regency was designed for high-net-worth individuals who prized anonymity above all else. There were no cameras in the guest corridors—a selling point for its wealthy clientele, but a distinct advantage for us now.
I inserted the brass key Lily had given me into the mechanical lock of Room 304, followed by the electronic passkey. The heavy oak door clicked softly and swung open.
The apartment was pitch black, the heavy velvet drapes drawn tight against the morning light. The air smelled stale, thick with the scent of expensive cigars and women’s perfume.
Frank stepped in first, his hand resting on the holster beneath his jacket, sweeping the room with a tactical flashlight. "Clear," he whispered.
I walked inside and flipped the wall switch.
The room was not a hotel suite; it was a command center.
Against the far wall stood four large monitors displaying high-definition surveillance feeds. My jaw tightened as I realized what I was looking at. One screen showed the private entrance to Ellison Tower. Another showed the interior of my garage. A third displayed a detailed timeline of my daily schedule, complete with red ink annotations marking my private meetings, financial reviews, and personal outings.
"They've been tracking you for over a year, Marcus," Frank muttered, stepping toward a large glass drafting desk in the center of the room.
I walked over to the desk. Spread out across the surface were dozens of photographs. Photos of me eating lunch in Midtown; photos of me visiting my mother's grave; and photos of Diana Caldwell sitting in this very room, laughing while sipping champagne with a man whose face made my blood run cold.
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It wasn't just Julian Vance.
Sitting beside Julian in the photographs, holding a folder containing Ellison Enterprises financial statements, was my own Chief Financial Officer—Richard Hayes.
