Then back at him.
“Your reservation is for the Whitmore Suite.”
“Yes.”
“That suite is normally reserved for ownership, board members, and select investors.”
“I understand.”
Her smile became thinner.
“And our records indicate that the suite was booked under a corporate account.”
“Yes.”
“May I ask which company you're representing?”
Malcolm looked directly into her eyes.
“You may.”
He paused.
“But I don't think you're going to like the answer.”
Evelyn waited.
Malcolm picked up his bag.
“My own.”
And for the first time that evening, Evelyn's expression changed.
Not because she believed him.
Because she didn't.
The Reservation
Ten minutes later, Malcolm was still standing at the reception desk.
His coat was beginning to dry.
His patience was not.
Evelyn had called someone upstairs.
Malcolm watched the elevator doors open and close as employees moved through the lobby.
Nobody seemed interested in the piano anymore.
Everybody seemed interested in him.
A security officer appeared.
Then another.
Malcolm noticed.
He said nothing.
Claire lowered her voice.
“Mr. Reid, we're simply trying to verify the reservation.”
“You've verified it.”
“There are procedures.”
“I've given you identification.”
“Yes.”
“I've provided the credit card.”
“Yes.”
“So what exactly are you verifying?”
Claire didn't answer.
Evelyn stepped in.
“Mr. Reid, we have reason to believe there may have been an administrative error.”
“What kind?”
“We're not certain.”
“You've been trying to remove me from the lobby for fifteen minutes.”
“No one is removing you.”
“Then check me in.”
Silence.
The security officer shifted his weight.
Malcolm looked at him.
“Do you know who I am?”
The man shook his head.
“That makes two of us.”
Malcolm almost laughed.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Daniel Mercer.
He answered.
“Daniel.”
A deep voice came through.
“Where are you?”
“Valecrest.”
A pause.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“Everything okay?”
Malcolm glanced toward Evelyn.
“No.”
Daniel's voice hardened.
“What happened?”
“They don't believe I have a reservation.”
“What?”
“Apparently I don't look like the kind of person who books the Whitmore Suite.”
Silence.
Then Daniel said quietly:
“Malcolm, do you want me to come there?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“I don't need you.”
Daniel sighed.
“You always say that.”
“Tonight I mean it.”
Malcolm ended the call.
Evelyn had heard enough to know that someone important was involved.
But she still didn't know who.
“Mr. Reid,” she said, “perhaps we should move to the private office.”
“Why?”
“So we can resolve this discreetly.”
Malcolm looked around.
“Discreetly?”
“Yes.”
“You mean away from the other guests.”
“Yes.”
“So you can accuse me of something without witnesses?”
Evelyn's face stiffened.
“That's not what I said.”
“No. It's what you've been doing.”
Claire looked uncomfortable.
Malcolm turned to her.
“Tell me something honestly.”
She hesitated.
“What?”
“If I were wearing a thousand-dollar watch, carrying a briefcase, and arrived in a black Mercedes, would we still be having this conversation?”
Claire froze.
Evelyn stepped forward.
“That is an unfair assumption.”
“Is it?”
Neither woman answered.
Then the elevator opened.
A man stepped out.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
Walking cane.
Every employee who saw him immediately straightened.
Evelyn's face changed.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
Malcolm looked at the newcomer.
The man stared at him.
Then at the security officers.
Then at Evelyn.
“What is happening?”
Evelyn approached him.
“We're handling an issue with a guest.”
Whitmore looked at Malcolm.
“Who?”
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“Malcolm Reid.”
Whitmore stopped.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked at Malcolm again.
This time, his expression wasn't suspicious.
It was shocked.
“You're here.”
Malcolm nodded.
“I am.”
Whitmore slowly extended his hand.
Malcolm took it.
“Welcome home,” Whitmore said.
The lobby went silent.
The Owner
Nobody moved.
Claire looked at Malcolm.
Then at Whitmore.
Then at Evelyn.
The security officers exchanged glances.
Malcolm released Whitmore's hand.
“Good to see you, Arthur.”
Arthur Whitmore smiled.
“You've gotten older.”
“So have you.”
Arthur laughed.
“Still rude.”
“Still alive.”
“Barely.”
The two men shared a brief smile.
Evelyn stared at them.
“Mr. Whitmore,” she said carefully, “you know Mr. Reid?”