Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Knew Where the Money Went
The private elevator climbed without stopping.
Neither Roman nor Emily spoke.
The silence should have been uncomfortable, but somehow it became something else—a strange pause in which both of them understood that whatever came next could not be undone.
Roman kept his eyes on the numbers above the door.
Emily stared at her reflection.
She looked ridiculous beside him.
Gray uniform.
Worn shoes.
Hair that had escaped its tie after twelve hours of work.
Roman looked as if he had stepped out of a magazine built around expensive watches and impossible men.
Yet he was the one whose breathing had changed after she mentioned his father.
When the elevator doors opened, Roman walked toward his office.
Emily followed.
The moment the door shut behind them, Roman turned.
“Start at the beginning.”
“You need to be more specific.”
“Margaret Ellis. My father. The money.”
Emily folded her arms.
“You really don't remember Margaret?”
“She left when I was thirty-one. I was abroad.”
“You were in London.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed.
“You know where I was?”
“I know because Margaret asked your father to wait until you returned.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
Emily hesitated.
“She said she didn't know whether your father would believe her.”
Roman walked behind the desk.
“What was she investigating?”
Emily looked at the city through the glass.
“Expenses.”
Roman waited.
“Not normal expenses. Ghost expenses.”
He frowned.
“Explain.”
“Payments made to vendors who did not exist.”
Roman’s expression changed.
Emily continued.
“Food suppliers with warehouses nobody had ever seen. Security companies with employees who had no records. Maintenance firms that billed the hotel for work that was never performed.”
Roman reached for a notebook.
“Who approved them?”
“Multiple signatures.”
“Whose?”
“Margaret never told me.”
“Why would Margaret tell you anything?”
“Because my mother was her closest friend.”
Roman paused.
That was new.
“Your mother worked here?”
“For twenty-six years.”
“What was her name?”
“Rebecca Hayes.”
Roman repeated the name in his head.
He had heard it before.
Not often.
But once, years ago, from his father.
A name surrounded by anger.
“You're Rebecca Hayes’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
Roman stared at her.
“Your mother died at work.”
Emily’s face hardened.
“She collapsed in the laundry room.”
“Heart attack.”
“That’s what they said.”
Roman slowly lowered the notebook.
“You don’t believe it.”
“I was nineteen.”
“And you thought the hotel covered something up.”
“I thought my mother deserved to be examined by a doctor before people started whispering that she simply got tired.”
Roman's jaw tightened.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because you weren't here.”
“I came back.”
“After the funeral.”
He looked away.
That answer hurt in a way he did not expect.
Emily reached beneath her uniform collar and pulled out the silver chain.
At the end hung a tiny key.
Roman stared.
“Margaret gave me this the night before my mother died.”
“Did she tell you what it opens?”
“She said no.”
“You still have it?”
“For eight years.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared.”
Roman stepped closer.
“Of Margaret?”
“No.”
Emily looked directly into his eyes.
“Of whoever she was scared of.”
The room fell quiet.
Roman had spent most of his life believing fear was useful only when understood.
Now he was realizing that Emily had been living beside an unidentified threat for eight years.
He reached for the key.
She closed her hand around it.
“Not yet.”
Roman stopped.
“You don't trust me.”
“I don't know you.”
“You've worked for me for 18 months.”
“I worked in your hotel.”
“Same building.”
“Not the same thing.”
Roman almost smiled.
“You're difficult.”
“I've been told.”
He turned back to the desk.
“Fine. Then let's do this your way.”
He opened another file.
“Margaret disappeared on November 18.”
Emily nodded.
“She met my father on November 15.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she told my mother.”
“And your mother told you?”
“She left me a letter.”
Roman froze.
“Where is it?”
“At home.”
“Bring it.”
“No.”
Roman stared.
Emily stood her ground.
“You asked for truth. I'm giving it.”
“Then why refuse?”
“Because if I bring you the letter, whatever happens next isn't theory anymore.”
Roman's voice softened.
“I’m not asking as your employer.”
Emily looked at him.
“Then who are you asking as?”
Roman had no answer.
The question surprised them both.
Before he could speak, the office door opened.
Thomas Keller entered without knocking.
He stopped when he saw Emily.
“Sir.”
Roman's expression turned cold.
“What?”
“We have another issue.”
“What issue?”
“Walter Green was attacked in the staff parking garage.”
Emily went pale.
“What?”
Roman moved immediately.
“Status.”
“Knee injury. Bruised ribs. He’s conscious.”
“Who did it?”
“We're checking cameras.”
Roman looked at Emily.
“Stay here.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“Stay here.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“They were trying to scare him.”
Roman stepped close.
“How do you know?”
“Because Walter told me something yesterday.”
“What?”
“He said somebody had asked him whether I was still repairing his clothes.”
Roman's eyes turned dark.
“Who?”
“An employee from night security.”
“Name.”
“I don't know.”
Keller exchanged a look with Roman.
Roman noticed.
“What?”
“The employee in question disappeared before the assault.”
“Find him.”
Keller nodded.
Roman grabbed his coat.
Emily followed.
“I’m coming.”
“You’re not.”
“He was hurt because of me.”
“No.”
“Because somebody thinks I know something.”
Roman stopped.
“That,” he said quietly, “is exactly why you're staying behind.”
Emily's eyes flashed.
“I've spent eight years staying behind.”
Roman looked at her for several seconds.
Then he said, “Not anymore.”
The garage was crowded with police officers and Bellini security.
Walter sat on a bench while a paramedic wrapped his ribs.
Emily ran toward him.
“I’m sorry.”
Walter caught her wrist.
“Don't.”
“I should've—”
“Don't you dare.”
He looked at Roman.
“Your boss finally figured out I'm not made of steel.”
Roman crouched in front of him.
“Who hit you?”
Walter shook his head.
“Two men.”
“Did you know them?”
“One wore a hotel security jacket.”
“The other?”
“Didn't see his face.”
Roman's expression hardened.
Walter glanced at Emily.
“Boss, don't let them fire her.”
Roman looked at him.
“They won't.”
Walter smiled weakly.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
That word sounded different coming from Roman.
He rose.
Then he saw something near Walter's shoes.
A folded piece of paper.
Roman picked it up.
There were only six words written in black ink.
STOP ASKING ABOUT MARGARET ELLIS.
Roman's fingers tightened.
Emily saw it.
“They know.”
“Apparently.”
She looked at him.
“What are you going to do?”
Roman folded the paper.
“Find Margaret.”
Emily stared.
“She may be dead.”
“I know.”
“You can't bring someone back.”
“No.”
Roman's voice became almost dangerously calm.
“But I can find out who made her disappear.”
That night, Roman moved Emily into a guest suite inside the Bellini Grand.
She protested for eleven minutes.
He ignored her for ten.
On the eleventh, she asked, “Are you always this controlling?”
“Yes.”
“Then I definitely don't want to live here.”
“You're not living here.”
“Then what am I doing?”
“Staying alive.”
She stared at him.
Roman finally looked away.
The suite door closed.
Emily sat on the edge of the enormous bed.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a distorted voice whispered:
“You were warned when your mother died.”
The call ended.
Emily's hands began to shake.
A knock came immediately.
Roman entered.
“What happened?”
She handed him the phone.
His eyes hardened.
“Did they say anything else?”
Emily nodded.
“They mentioned my mother.”
Roman's expression became unreadable.
“What exactly?”
“They said I was warned when she died.”
For a few seconds he said nothing.
Then he looked at the silver key around her neck.
“Tomorrow,” Roman said, “we open whatever that key unlocks.”
Emily whispered, “And if they come for us before then?”
Roman looked at her.
“They won't.”
“How can you know?”
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“Because anyone coming for you will have to come through me first.”
Neither of them knew yet how many people would be willing to try.
