Chapter 8: The Grand Ballroom
The bass from the hotel’s grand ballroom thudded through the reinforced concrete of the backstage service corridors, vibrating against the soles of my shoes. I had slipped back into my black-and-white maid's uniform and white apron, the familiar fabric acting as an invisible cloak among the bustling catering staff and frantic event planners. Out front, wealthy patrons in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos were sipping champagne under crystal chandeliers, celebrating a foundation that Gable used as a shield for his predatory empire.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but my hands were steady as I pushed open the heavy oak door leading to the executive administrative suite. The hallway was empty, bathed in the warm, artificial glow of wall-mounted candle sconces that mirrored the exact spot where this entire nightmare had begun less than forty-eight hours ago.
Gable’s office door was locked, but Dante had provided a magnetic bypass tool no larger than a fountain pen. I slid it along the brass latch with a soft, metallic click, and the door swung inward.
The office was dark, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and ozone from the laser printers. I slipped inside, closing the door silently behind me, and moved directly to the framed landscape painting hanging on the far wall. Lifting it aside revealed a heavy digital wall safe. Using the birthdate sequence from the Vanguard incorporation papers we found in the archives, I punched in the numbers. The LED display blinked green, and the heavy steel door popped open with a pneumatic hiss.
Inside sat three thick, leather-bound ledgers detailing every illegal loan, every laundered dollar, and every name of the employees Gable had trapped in his debt web. I pulled them out, stacking them hastily into the canvas tote bag I had brought with me.
"Going somewhere, little bird?"
May you like
I froze. The deep, oily voice sliced through the dim room from the doorway. I spun around to find Thomas Gable standing in the entrance, his tailored jacket unbuttoned, a thin, cruel smile playing on his lips. In his right hand, he held a sleek revolver, the barrel pointed directly at my chest.
"I have to hand it to you, Sela," Gable said, taking a slow step into the office, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "You've got more backbone than your brother. Too bad it's going to get you both buried in a shallow grave behind the loading docks."
