Chapter 2 - The House of Secrets
The service office was tucked behind the laundry chutes, a cramped space smelling of chemicals and stale coffee. Vincent stormed in, his security detail following in a phalanx. Clare Turner, Maddie’s mother, was sitting at the desk, her hands folded. She looked pale, but her gaze was resolute.
“He’s upstairs, isn't he?” Vincent asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
Clare nodded slowly. “David Vance has been working with the rival families for months. He’s the one who provided the blueprints for the renovation of this lobby. He told the assassins exactly when you would cross the threshold of that blue door.”
Vincent felt the weight of his own hubris. He had built the Caruso Grand to be a fortress, and he had handed the keys to a viper.
“Why?” Vincent asked, looking at Clare. “You’re a maid. How did you know?”
“I don't just clean the rooms, Mr. Caruso,” Clare said, her voice steady. “I hear the conversations left behind in the suites. Vance doesn't bother hiding his documents when he thinks he’s alone with his phone. He forgets that staff are invisible. He forgets that we know who’s really paying the bills.”
Vincent paced the room. He had been a fool, blinded by the comfort of his own power. He looked at Maddie, who had been settled into a corner chair by one of his guards. The child was silent, her eyes darting between the adults.
“If Vance is upstairs, he’s waiting for the ‘report’,” Vincent mused, his mind racing. “He expects to hear that the head of the Caruso family has been removed.”
“He has the contingency plans for your assets in his briefcase,” Clare added. “He’s planning to present himself as the administrator of your ‘estate’ to the board within the hour.”
Vincent looked at his watch. Forty minutes until the board meeting.
“Clare,” Vincent said, his voice turning into a serrated edge. “I need you to stay with Maddie in the safe house. My men will escort you. But I need to know one thing: can you prove what you heard?”
Clare reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, digital recorder—the kind the staff used to note repair requests. “I didn't just hear it. I recorded his meetings with the rival bosses in the Presidential Suite.”
Vincent looked at the recorder, then at the woman. He had lived his life believing that power came from muscle and money. Tonight, he realized that power was information, and he had been severely outplayed.
“If we survive this,” Vincent said, “your life changes. Both of yours.”
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“I don't want a change,” Clare said softly. “I just want to be able to walk down a hallway without looking over my shoulder.”
Vincent nodded once. He took the recorder, tucked it into his jacket, and turned to his lead guard. “Clear the lobby. We’re going to the board room. And tell the staff to play along. Tonight, David Vance is going to have the most terrifying hour of his life.”
