Before Marcus could recover his balance, I scrambled to my feet and sprinted across the suite toward the small alcove where my father’s desk used to sit.
“You can’t run, Dani!” Marcus roared, his voice echoing over the blaring security sirens. “The building is sealed! There’s nowhere to go!”
He was right about the digital locks. Elena had full control of the modern security grid. But Elena had only been running security for six months.
I had grown up in this building.
I knew its bones. I knew its secrets.
I ran past the hidden ventilation closet, silently praying Leo was staying perfectly still in the dark.
I reached the far corner of the alcove. The wall here was covered in a massive, floor-to-ceiling mirror. It was designed to make the room look larger, but my father had installed it for a very different reason.
When the hotel was built in the early nineties, my father had insisted on an analog fail-safe. He was a paranoid man who didn't trust computer systems.
I grabbed the heavy bronze lamp from a nearby side table and swung it as hard as I could into the center of the mirror.
The glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, raining down onto the carpet.
Behind the broken glass was a dull gray steel door with an old-fashioned, heavy mechanical deadbolt. The private freight elevator. It operated on an independent hydraulic system, completely disconnected from the hotel’s digital network.
Marcus rounded the corner just as the glass settled. He stopped, staring at the hidden door in shock. He had spent months living in this suite and had never known it was there.
“What the hell is that?” he breathed.
“That is fifty years of my family’s history,” I said, my chest heaving.
I reached inside my hoodie and pulled out the heavy gold chain I had worn around my neck since the day my father died. Hanging from the chain was a thick, jagged brass key.
I shoved the key into the old mechanical lock and twisted it violently. The heavy deadbolt clanged open with a loud, metallic thud.
I grabbed the heavy iron handle and hauled the steel door open. The dark, empty shaft of the freight elevator gaped in front of me, the small metal carriage waiting silently in the shadows.
“No!” Marcus screamed, lunging forward.
I didn't step into the elevator.
Instead, I turned around and kicked the heavy glass side table directly into his path. Marcus tripped over the glass, his knee slamming into the floorboards as he dropped the iron poker.
I sprinted back to the ventilation closet and ripped the wooden door open.
“Leo, come on!” I yelled.
My brave little boy scrambled out of the dark, grabbing my hand tightly.
We ran back to the open steel door just as Marcus was struggling to his feet. I pushed Leo into the metal carriage, jumped in behind him, and slammed the heavy grate shut.
I pulled the rusted mechanical lever down.
The carriage lurched violently, groaning in protest before plunging rapidly down the dark shaft, leaving Marcus screaming in pure rage on the 50th floor above us.
The descent was terrifyingly fast, the wind rushing past us in the pitch-black shaft. Leo buried his face in my side, crying softly. I held him as tightly as humanly possible, keeping one hand pressed against the manila envelope in my pocket.
The carriage slammed to a violent halt at the bottom of the shaft. We were in the sub-basement boiler room, three floors below the main lobby.
I pushed the metal grate open and carried Leo out into the sweltering, pipe-filled room.
I knew exactly where we needed to go. Tomorrow morning's emergency board meeting wouldn't happen. The executives were all staying in the VIP suites on the second floor, and Richard Vance was currently drinking in the lobby lounge.
If Marcus realized I had the documents, he would try to flee the building before the police arrived. I couldn't let him leave.
I found a wall-mounted emergency landline phone near the boiler controls. I picked it up. Because it was hardwired into the city's analog grid, there was a dial tone.
I dialed 911.
“Chicago Police Department, what is your emergency?” the dispatcher answered.
“My name is Danielle Sterling,” I said, my voice trembling but absolutely clear. “I am the owner of the Sterling Grand Hotel. My husband, Marcus Sterling, is attempting to murder me and my son on the premises. I have physical evidence of massive corporate fraud and attempted homicide. Send every unit you have to the main lobby immediately.”
I dropped the phone, letting it dangle by its cord.
“Mommy, I'm scared,” Leo whispered.
“I know, baby. The scary part is almost over,” I promised him.