Chapter 4
Marcus Webb arrived from the east wing in four minutes, which told me he had been in the building, which made sense given the gala. He was forty-three years old and had been the general manager of the Grand Regent Chicago for two years, having come from the San Francisco property where he had rebuilt a staff culture in eighteen months that had previously been rated the weakest in the group. I had promoted him to Chicago specifically because of that work. He came through the lobby in his suit with the specific energy of a man who has received an urgent communication and is managing his expression against the uncertainty of what he is about to find.
He stopped when he saw me.
Not because he recognized me immediately. He stopped because Lily was asleep on my shoulder and the roses were in my hand and the front desk had the atmosphere of a room in which something irrevocable has recently been understood.
"Mr. Vance," he said. Then he understood. "Sir. I apologize. I had no idea you were—"
"I know you didn't," I said.
He looked at Patricia. He looked at Karla. He looked at Lupita, still standing beside the luggage stand with the folded towels, and his expression moved through several things in the span of about two seconds. "Sir, I'll take you up to the suite personally. Whatever you need for tonight, for both of you, please—"
"In a moment," I said.
I turned to Lupita.
"How long have you worked here?"
She seemed surprised to be addressed. "Six years, sir."
"You noticed a problem that wasn't your department and you involved yourself anyway."
She looked at the towels. "I just thought someone should check properly."
"Someone should have," I said. "You were the only one who did."
I reached into the front pocket of my backpack and took out the black cardholder I carried on these visits, the one with the chairman's contact cards I used when I was doing exactly this, visiting anonymously, and I placed a card on the luggage stand beside her towels. "Call the number on the back tomorrow morning. I'd like to discuss a different role for you, if that's something you'd be interested in."
She looked at the card. She looked at me. She said nothing, which was the right response.
May you like
I looked at Marcus. "I'll take the suite now. Lily needs to sleep." Then I looked at the front desk, at Patricia and Karla, who were both in the particular stillness of people who have fully understood their situation and are waiting to see its shape. "Tomorrow morning," I said. "Nine o'clock. All three of us, your office, Marcus. I'll want to understand how this became acceptable."
Marcus nodded. His face had the expression of a man who is simultaneously grateful the owner is composed and fully aware that composure is not the same as absence of consequence.
