Chapter 4: Shadows in the Lobby Bar

We took the private service elevator up to the mezzanine level, bypassing the public guest floors entirely. The car moved in absolute silence, its polished wood paneling reflecting the warm, subdued light of the ceiling sconces. When the doors slid open, we stepped out onto the carpeted balcony overlooking the grand hotel lobby bar.

Below us, beneath the glittering cascade of the crystal chandelier, the marble floors were mostly deserted at this hour, save for a few late-night travelers nursing drinks at the far end of the mahogany bar. Among them sat Miller, one of Marquina's guards, leaning casually against the polished counter with a smartphone hidden beneath the rim of the bar.

"There," I whispered, resting my hands on the brass railing of the mezzanine. "That's the second man. The one who sent the confirmation ping."

Marquina stepped up beside me, his tall frame blocking the view from anyone looking up from below. He rested his forearms on the rail, his gaze locking onto Miller's relaxed posture. The bodyguard moved quietly down the carpeted stairs toward the lower level, his hand sliding inside his jacket.

"He thinks he's waiting for confirmation of a successful drop," Marquina said, his voice a low rumble in the quiet air of the balcony. "He thinks the elevator took care of the problem."

"And when he finds out you walked out through the kitchen?" I asked, watching the bodyguard cross the lobby floor toward the bar with silent, purposeful strides.

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"He'll panic," Marquina replied, turning his head to look down at me. In the warm overhead light, the sharp lines of his face softened just fractionally. "And panic makes men sloppy. That's when we find out who's paying him."

I looked down at the white cleaning towel still clutched in my hand, its fibers stained with a faint smudge of industrial grease from the sub-level doors. My heart beat with a steady, rhythmic thud against my ribs, no longer racing with fear, but sharpened by a cold, shared purpose. We stood together in the quiet shadows of the mezzanine, watching the trap spring shut.