Chapter 8 - The Locked Room on the Thirteenth Floor
Vincent March entered the warehouse alone.
Roman's security team remained positioned around the room.
Vincent stopped when he saw Nora holding Celeste's letter.
He was sixty-three.
Silver-haired.
Immaculate.
A man who had spent decades smiling for business magazines beside luxury resorts.
Now his face looked old.
“Nora.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You know my name.”
“I always have.”
“How long?”
“Since you were born.”
Roman moved slightly closer.
Nora lifted one hand.
She wanted this conversation herself.
“Did my mother tell you?”
“My father did.”
“You knew Arthur was my father.”
“Yes.”
“And you let my mother live like she did.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“She made choices.”
“So did you.”
“You don't understand what happened.”
“Then explain it.”
Vincent looked around the abandoned textile warehouse.
“My father was reckless.”
“With money?”
“With people.”
Nora's expression hardened.
“My mother never described him that way.”
“Your mother loved him.”
“She said their relationship was wrong.”
Vincent looked surprised.
Nora lifted the letter.
“She told me the truth.”
Vincent exhaled.
“My father humiliated my mother.”
“Your mother's pain wasn't my fault.”
“I know.”
“Did you know that while someone photographed me walking home from school?”
Vincent looked away.
Nora's voice sharpened.
“Did you order it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Marcus Vale handled those things.”
Julian's father.
Roman's expression darkened.
“You outsourced intimidation.”
Vincent looked toward him.
“I didn't ask Marcus to threaten a child.”
“But you kept employing him.”
Vincent said nothing.
That silence was enough.
Nora stepped closer.
“Why are you here?”
“Because whatever Celeste left you could destroy my family.”
“Your family.”
“Yes.”
Nora laughed without humor.
“Apparently I'm part of it.”
Vincent flinched.
For the first time, Nora saw something other than calculation.
Shame.
Maybe.
“Biologically,” he said.
“Don't worry. I'm not asking to attend Thanksgiving.”
Roman almost smiled.
Vincent didn't.
“Nora, listen carefully. The hotel is already collapsing financially.”
“So?”
“If the truth about those old accounts becomes public, lenders will pull financing.”
“Maybe they should.”
“Hundreds of employees will lose jobs.”
That stopped her.
Vincent saw it.
He pressed.
“You work there. You know these people.”
Nora pictured Rosa in laundry.
Daniel at the front desk.
Miguel in maintenance.
People with mortgages.
Children.
Medical bills.
“You're using them as shields.”
“No. I'm telling you consequences exist.”
Roman spoke.
“Consequences created by you.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You don't care about employees.”
Roman's voice was calm.
“I intend to buy the hotel and keep them.”
Vincent's expression tightened.
“You'll gut the company.”
“I'll remove the people stealing from it.”
That landed.
Nora watched Vincent.
“You know about Bellamy Harbor.”
He didn't answer.
“You know somebody created seventy-eight million dollars in debt under my name.”
Vincent's face showed genuine surprise.
“What?”
Nora studied him.
For once, she wasn't sure he was lying.
Roman noticed too.
“You didn't know,” Roman said.
Vincent shook his head.
“No.”
“Julian?”
“I knew he was trying to secure Celeste's shares.”
“How?”
“He approached me.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Roman's eyes narrowed.
Around the same time he began investigating the hotel.
Vincent continued.
“Julian said Nora had abandoned any claim and he could resolve the title issue before a sale.”
Nora felt sick.
“You believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
That was at least honest.
Roman asked, “Did Peter Sloane know?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Yes.”
Nora looked at Roman.
There it was again.
Roman's CFO at the center.
“Where is Peter?”
Vincent shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“Selene was seen with him.”
Vincent's face changed.
“What?”
Roman showed him the photograph.
Vincent stared.
“My daughter said she went home.”
“She lied.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Nora wondered how many lies this family had survived by refusing to look too closely.
Roman stepped toward Vincent.
“If Selene is working with Sloane and Julian—”
“She wouldn't.”
Nora interrupted.
“She stole prenatal vitamins from my locker and hit me because she was afraid I wanted Julian back. You may not know your daughter as well as you think.”
Vincent looked ashamed.
“She hit you?”
Roman's eyes flashed.
Nora ignored him.
“Yes.”
Vincent rubbed his face.
“God.”
“Don't worry. Apparently Roman already terrified her enough for everyone.”
Roman glanced at Nora.
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Vincent looked at the files.
“What did Celeste hide?”
Nora folded the letter.
“Enough.”
“Nora.”
“You don't get access.”
“If my father's name—”
“Your father was my father too.”
The sentence fell heavily.
Vincent stared.
Nora stared back.
Neither seemed to know what to do with it.
Finally Vincent nodded.
“You're right.”
He turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
“There is something you should know about Room 1307.”
Nora's pulse jumped.
“What?”
“It was never a maintenance room.”
Whitmore frowned.
“Records identify it that way.”
“Because I changed them.”
Nora stared.
“What was it?”
Vincent looked at Celeste's photograph.
“My father's private office.”
Roman narrowed his eyes.
“Why seal it?”
“After Arthur died, I searched it.”
“For the will?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.”
Vincent's mouth tightened.
“But I found evidence that Celeste had been there after his death.”
Nora remembered the blue dress.
“Why would she return?”
“To remove something.”
“What?”
“I never knew.”
Nora thought of the flash drive.
Perhaps that was all.
Vincent continued.
“There was another room connected to it.”
Roman looked up.
“We saw no door.”
“It isn't visible.”
“Where?”
“Behind the west wall.”
Nora's heart accelerated.
“What was in it?”
“My father kept personal documents there.”
“Including wills?”
“Possibly.”
Roman grabbed his coat.
Vincent raised a hand.
“One problem.”
“What?”
“The hidden room can only be opened from inside the old laundry control shaft.”
Nora stared.
“The laundry.”
Celeste's drawing.
It wasn't merely a clue to the will.
It was a map.
They drove back to the March Grand.
By late afternoon, wedding guests had mostly moved to another section of the property.
Selene was nowhere to be found.
Neither was Julian.
The laundry room occupied the basement.
Industrial machines thundered.
Steam filled the air.
Nora had worked there for fourteen months.
She knew every corner.
Yet she had never noticed the narrow metal panel behind an old linen press.
Vincent showed them.
Inside was a mechanical lever.
Nora pulled it.
Somewhere thirteen floors above them, something unlocked.
They rushed upstairs.
Room 1307 looked unchanged.
Roman examined the west wall.
Pressed.
Nothing.
Nora looked at the blue dress.
Then at the old built-in wardrobe.
“Move it.”
Roman's men pushed the wardrobe aside.
Behind it was a narrow door.
No handle.
Nora pressed the panel.
It opened.
Inside was a room no bigger than a closet.
Shelves.
Boxes.
A small safe.
And an old desk.
Nora stepped inside.
Dust coated everything.
On the desk was an envelope.
Celeste.
Nora touched it.
Arthur's handwriting, according to Vincent.
She opened it.
Inside was a letter and a legal document.
Whitmore read the first page.
His face changed.
“It's the will.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Nora's hands shook.
Whitmore continued reading silently.
Then looked at Nora.
“What?”
she asked.
He swallowed.
“Arthur left you more than eight percent.”
“How much?”
Whitmore looked toward Vincent.
Then back at Nora.
“Fifty-one percent of the March Grand Hotel.”
Nobody spoke.
Nora stared.
“That would make me…”
“The controlling owner,” Whitmore said.
Vincent looked as though someone had punched him.
Nora turned toward him.
Before she could speak, alarms erupted throughout the building.
Fire alarms.
Roman's security chief shouted from the corridor.
“Everybody out!”
Smoke began pouring beneath the door of Room 1307.
Roman grabbed Nora.
“This way.”
Someone had set fire to the thirteenth floor.
May you like
And the flames were moving toward the room containing the only surviving copy of Arthur March's will.
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