Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Surprise
Three days later, the atmosphere inside the Lakeshore Grand Hotel was thick with a suffocating, frantic panic.
Upstairs in the luxurious, marble-floored lobby, housekeeping staff were scrubbing baseboards with toothbrushes. The front desk clerks were practicing their welcoming smiles until their cheeks cramped. Bellhops stood at rigid attention, terrified to even blink.
Vanessa Mercer was pacing the length of the executive boardroom like a caged tiger. She looked immaculate in a pristine white suit, but a bead of sweat rolled down her neck, betraying her anxiety. Word had come down from corporate at 5:00 AM: the new owner of the hotel, the elusive billionaire who had just acquired the entire regional portfolio, was conducting a surprise, in-person inspection today at noon.
"Is the lobby flawless?" Vanessa barked at her assistant, a timid young man named David who looked like he hadn't slept in a week.
"Yes, Ms. Mercer. The floral arrangements are fresh, the marble is polished, and all staff are in full uniform."
"What about the accounting books?" she hissed, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "Did you fix the discrepancies in the banquet payroll like I told you?"
David swallowed hard, adjusting his glasses. "I... I shifted the numbers around, Ms. Mercer. The phantom employee accounts have been temporarily suspended, and the missing service charges are hidden under the 'miscellaneous structural repairs' ledger. But if he brings forensic auditors..."
"He won't!" Vanessa snapped, her perfectly manicured nails biting into her palms. "Billionaires don't look at the dirt. They walk through the lobby, drink a glass of champagne, look at the bottom-line profit, and leave. As long as we look profitable and perfect, he won't ask questions. I've spent a year skimming off the top of this miserable place, and I am not going to let some arrogant rich boy ruin it now."
Meanwhile, three miles away in a cramped, drafty apartment, Nia Carter was staring blankly at her laptop screen. She had applied for forty-two jobs in the last three days. Every rejection email felt like a physical blow. Her bank account balance was currently sitting at a terrifying $42.50.
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen table. The caller ID was restricted. Frowning, Nia picked it up. "Hello?"
"Is this Nia Carter?" a crisp, professional female voice asked.
"Speaking."
"Ms. Carter, my name is Sarah, and I am calling from the executive office of Vance Hospitality Group. We have an urgent matter regarding your recent employment at the Lakeshore Grand. You are requested to appear in the main lobby of the hotel today at exactly 12:00 PM."
Nia's heart skipped a beat. "I was fired three days ago. If Vanessa Mercer is trying to withhold my final paycheck—"
"This is not about your paycheck, Ms. Carter, and Ms. Mercer did not authorize this call," the woman interrupted politely but firmly. "It is highly advised that you attend. Compensation for your time will be provided. Please be in the lobby at noon."
The line went dead.
Nia stared at the phone. It was a trap. It had to be. Vanessa was probably trying to set her up for trespassing, or maybe blame her for some stolen inventory. But the mention of Vance Hospitality Group—the massive conglomerate she had read about on the news—made her pause. Why would corporate care about a fired laundry attendant? Curiosity, and the desperate hope of getting her final paycheck, won out. Nia threw on her best clean sweater, wrapped her scarf tightly against the Chicago wind, and headed for the L train.
At 11:55 AM, Nia pushed through the revolving brass doors of the Lakeshore Grand. She hadn't been in the main lobby in months; employees were strictly forbidden from using the guest entrances. It was breathtakingly beautiful, dripping with crystal chandeliers and exotic flowers.
Nia stood near a towering marble pillar, feeling incredibly out of place in her worn jeans and cheap coat.
At 11:58 AM, the doors to the executive elevators opened, and Vanessa Mercer stepped out, flanked by the hotel's senior management team. Vanessa was scanning the lobby, ensuring perfection, when her eyes landed on Nia.
Vanessa’s face contorted in pure, unadulterated rage. She abandoned her entourage and marched across the marble floor, her heels echoing loudly.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" Vanessa hissed, grabbing Nia by the arm. "I told you if you ever set foot on this property again, I would have you arrested!"
"I was told to be here," Nia said, ripping her arm out of Vanessa’s grip. "Corporate called me."
"Corporate?" Vanessa laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You are a delusional, pathetic liar. Security!" she barked, waving frantically at a burly guard near the doors. "Get this trash out of my lobby immediately. The owner of the company is arriving any second, and I will not have her polluting the air!"
The security guard, looking apologetic, stepped toward Nia. "Come on, Nia. You know the rules. You gotta go."
"I’m not leaving," Nia said, standing her ground, though her heart was pounding in her throat.
"Grab her and throw her out!" Vanessa shrieked, losing her carefully crafted composure.
But before the guard could lay a hand on Nia, the massive glass doors of the hotel swung open. The cold wind swept through the lobby, bringing with it a deafening silence.
Four men in dark suits stepped inside, scanning the room with sharp, professional eyes. And then, walking right through the center of them, was the billionaire owner.
He was dressed in a bespoke navy-blue suit that probably cost more than Nia's apartment. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and his posture radiated absolute, undeniable power. But as he turned his face toward the commotion, Nia gasped.
May you like
There, on his left temple, was a small, neat white bandage.
It was Julian. The bleeding stranger from the laundry room.
