Chapter 9: The Weight of the Uniform
The sudden plunge into darkness inside the penthouse annex held for only a heartbeat before the emergency lighting kicked on, casting a dull, amber glow across the scattered financial ledgers and the overturned folding table. Vance groaned against the floorboards, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as Marquina pinned him down with a heavy, unyielding knee pressed firmly into his chest. The smell of gunsmoke hung sharp and acrid in the enclosed space, mingling with the scent of old paper and dust. I stood a few feet away, my fingers still tightly gripping the corner of the white cleaning towel I had used to shatter the halogen lamp. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my breath remained even.
"You're done, Vance," Marquina said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that left no room for argument. He reached down, prying the heavy-caliber pistol from Vance's limp fingers and tossing it across the room into a dark corner where it skidded out of reach. "The board meeting at ten o'clock isn't going to be about my succession. It's going to be about your liquidation."
Vance managed a weak, bloodless smile, his gray hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. "You think... you think the board will believe a disgraced heir and a hotel maid? I drafted those shell company buyouts personally. Their signatures are on the ledgers."
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"Not anymore," I said, stepping forward and lifting the flash drive I had scooped up from the desk before the lights went out. I slid the small black plastic device into the pocket of my gray uniform apron. "The digital trails point straight to your offshore accounts, Mr. Vance. The hotel engineering logs show every text message you routed through the elevator relays."
Marquina glanced up at me, a brief flash of raw acknowledgment crossing his sharp features. He didn't say thank you—men like him didn't need to—but the set of his jaw softened just enough to show that the debt between us had grown heavier. He hauled Vance up by the collar of his expensive wool suit, shoving him toward the service door where the bodyguard was already waiting with a pair of heavy zip-ties. We moved through the back corridors of the hotel in tight silence, descending past the laundry rooms and the employee cafeterias where the morning shift was just beginning to stir with the clatter of stainless steel carts and brewing coffee.
