Chapter 3 - Under Oath
The federal interview took place in a windowless room that smelled faintly of dust and burnt coffee.
Claire sat between Julian Park and Sarah while two investigators reviewed the hotel’s financial records. Special Agent Lena Ortiz had silver-threaded hair and a habit of reading every page before asking a question. Her partner, Malcolm Reed, typed without looking up.
“Let’s begin with the renovation account,” Ortiz said. “Why did you deposit four hundred thousand dollars of your personal funds into it?”
“To cover payroll.”
“Why did you trust the Vances after that?”
Claire looked down at her hands. The question was fair, which made it harder to answer.
“Because I was marrying Grant. Because Arthur told me the hotel’s cash flow was temporary. Because every time I questioned something, they showed me another projection that made the problem look solvable.”
“Did you believe the projections?”
“I wanted to.”
Ortiz watched her for a moment. “Wanting to believe something is not the same as believing it.”
“I knew the hotel had problems. I didn’t know they were manufacturing them.”
Sarah slid a folder across the table. “These are Claire’s internal reports. They show she challenged the occupancy numbers six times.”
Reed finally looked up. “And your compensation?”
“A management fee. Delayed for six months.”
“So you had financial incentive to keep the hotel operating.”
“I had employees who needed paychecks and vendors who had already extended credit. That incentive was called responsibility.”
Julian touched her wrist, a warning to slow down. Claire breathed through the anger.
The investigators had already interviewed Grant and Arthur separately. Grant had claimed Claire controlled the hotel’s accounts. Arthur had called her an opportunist who engineered the collapse to acquire the property cheaply. Neither accusation survived a review of the access logs, but the lies had done their work. Rumors moved faster than evidence.
By the end of the interview, Ortiz asked Claire to remain behind.
“There is a discrepancy in the source of the emergency transfers,” she said. “Some of the money used to cover payroll came from an account connected to your late mother.”
Claire stared at her. “My mother died nine years ago.”
“I know.”
“What account?”
“We’re still tracing it. I wanted to ask whether she had any connection to the Grand Carlyle.”
“She worked here.”
“How long?”
“Until I was twelve. She was the night auditor.”
Ortiz closed the file. “Did she ever mention a trust?”
The word struck Claire with such force that she almost laughed. “No.”
“If you remember anything, call me.”
Outside the building, rain streaked the pavement. Roman waited beside a black sedan, his hands in his coat pockets.
“Do you always appear outside federal offices?” Claire asked.
“Only when clients leave looking like they want to walk into traffic.”
“I don’t need a driver.”
“I’m not offering one.”
“Then what are you offering?”
“A ride to the hotel. You have a board meeting in forty minutes.”
Claire studied him. “You read the interview schedule.”
“I read every schedule involving an asset worth thirty million dollars.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The reason you’re kind.”
Roman’s expression barely changed. “I’m not kind.”
“No. You’re efficient.”
“That’s safer.”
She got into the sedan.
Northstar’s first board meeting at the Carlyle began with a legal argument over chairs. Arthur had occupied the head seat despite no longer having voting authority. Grant sat beside him, red-eyed and furious. The lender’s representative explained the new structure while Mara kept her attention on the hotel’s operating projections.
“We will preserve jobs,” Roman said. “We will honor vendor agreements that can be validated. We will terminate related-party contracts immediately.”
Grant laughed. “You’re speaking as if you own the place.”
“Northstar owns the senior debt. You are in default.”
“My family owns the Carlyle.”
Claire placed a document on the table. “Not according to the collateral assignment signed on March fourth.”
Grant’s eyes snapped toward her. “You were there?”
“My company witnessed it.”
Arthur’s mouth tightened. “That document was temporary.”
“It has no temporary language.”
“You’re twisting a technicality.”
“No,” Claire said. “I’m reading what you signed.”
The meeting lasted two hours. By the end, Arthur had lost control of the operating account, Grant had lost his authority over staff, and Mara had been appointed interim general manager under Claire’s management contract.
Afterward, Mara found Claire in the empty ballroom, where the wedding decorations had been stripped away. A faint smear of blue frosting remained on the carpet.
“You should see this,” Mara said.
She held out a brass key.
“Where did you get it?”
“Behind the panel in the old accounting office. There was a note with your mother’s name.”
Claire’s pulse quickened. “What did it say?”
“Only this: Ask for the room that does not exist.”
Before Claire could respond, the ballroom doors opened. Roman stood there with Sarah and a uniformed security officer.
“We have a problem,” Roman said.
Claire closed her hand around the key. “What kind?”
“Someone accessed the basement records after the agents left.”
“Did they take anything?”
“We don’t know.”
The security officer handed her a printout. The access log showed one badge entry at 2:17 a.m., registered to Claire’s own employee identification number.
She looked at Mara. Mara looked back, stunned.
Roman’s voice lowered. “Until we know who used your badge, trust no one with the records.”
May you like
Claire slipped the brass key into her pocket. “I already learned that lesson.”
From beneath the ballroom floor came the distant vibration of a service elevator moving through the dark.
