Arthur turned.
“I do.”
“Personally?”
Arthur's eyebrows rose.
“Very personally.”
Malcolm picked up his bag.
Arthur looked toward the elevators.
“Why are you standing here?”
“Apparently my reservation is questionable.”
Arthur's expression darkened.
“Questionable?”
Evelyn stepped forward.
“Sir, there was confusion regarding the corporate account.”
Arthur stared at her.
“What corporate account?”
“The Reid Holdings account.”
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
“You mean the ownership account?”
Evelyn stopped breathing for a moment.
Arthur looked around the lobby.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said calmly, “you are looking at the man who owns forty percent of this hotel.”
The silence became absolute.
Claire's face drained of color.
Malcolm sighed.
“Arthur.”
“What?”
“You didn't have to announce it.”
“Yes, I did.”
Evelyn looked as though the marble floor had shifted beneath her.
“Mr. Reid,” she whispered.
Malcolm looked at her.
“Yes?”
“I apologize.”
He nodded.
“I expected that.”
“But—”
“Don't.”
She stopped.
Malcolm turned to Claire.
“You were doing your job.”
Claire looked embarrassed.
“I should have handled it differently.”
“Yes.”
“I apologize.”
Malcolm nodded.
Then he turned to Arthur.
“I'd like to check in.”
Arthur smiled.
“Of course.”
Evelyn immediately said, “I'll personally escort you upstairs.”
Malcolm looked at her.
“No.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I'll take the elevator.”
“Mr. Reid—”
“You've spent twenty minutes deciding whether I belong here.”
He picked up his bag.
“I don't need you to decide anymore.”
He walked toward the elevator.
Arthur followed.
Before the doors closed, Malcolm looked back.
“Tomorrow morning, I want a meeting.”
Evelyn swallowed.
“With whom?”
“Everyone responsible for tonight.”
The elevator doors closed.
Inside, Arthur looked at him.
“You could have told them.”
“That would have defeated the point.”
Arthur smiled.
“You haven't changed.”
“I hope I have.”
Arthur's smile faded.
“Why are you really here?”
Malcolm stared at the floor indicator.
“Because tomorrow I have to decide whether Valecrest survives.”
Arthur's expression became serious.
“What happened?”
“Someone has been stealing from the hotel.”
Arthur went silent.
“How much?”
“Enough to bankrupt it.”
The Numbers
At 7:30 the next morning, Malcolm sat alone in the Whitmore Suite.
The rain had stopped.
Manhattan glittered beyond the windows.
He hadn't slept.
Spread across the dining table were financial statements, invoices, vendor agreements, payroll reports, and bank transfers.
Malcolm had spent the last six months quietly investigating Valecrest.
On paper, the hotel was thriving.
Occupancy was strong.
Revenue was rising.
Investors were satisfied.
But beneath those numbers was something else.
Money was disappearing.
Millions of dollars.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger ones.
Payments to companies that barely existed.
Maintenance contracts signed with shell corporations.
Renovation expenses for work that had never been completed.
Luxury furniture billed twice.
Security upgrades that nobody had installed.
Malcolm had traced the transactions to one name.
Jonathan Pierce.
Chief Financial Officer.
He was the kind of man who never raised his voice.
Never drank too much.
Never missed a meeting.
He wore understated suits and spoke about integrity as though he'd invented it.
Malcolm had met him twice.
He hadn't trusted him either time.
At 8:02, someone knocked.
Malcolm looked up.
“Come in.”
Arthur entered.
Behind him were Daniel Mercer and Evelyn Hart.
Jonathan Pierce followed.
Malcolm stood.
“Good morning.”
Jonathan smiled.
“Mr. Reid.”
“Jonathan.”
“I understand there was some unpleasantness last night.”
“Yes.”
“I've already spoken with Evelyn.”
“Good.”
Jonathan sat.
“So perhaps we can put it behind us.”
Malcolm remained standing.
“No.”
Jonathan's smile faded.
Malcolm placed a folder on the table.
“I want you to explain these.”
Jonathan opened it.
His eyes moved across the pages.
“This appears to be accounting information.”
“It is.”
“I'll need time to review it.”
“You've had eighteen months.”
Jonathan looked up.
Arthur sat silently.
Daniel stood near the window.
Evelyn looked increasingly uncomfortable.
Jonathan closed the folder.
“Are you accusing me of misconduct?”
Malcolm answered calmly.
“I'm asking you a question.”