“I couldn’t tell who to trust.””
I stared at him.
“You didn’t trust me?””
“That isn’t what I said.””
“It’s exactly what you did.””
Dad stepped closer.
“Maya, the message attached to the photograph mentioned information only four people knew.””
“Which four?””
“Me. Richard. Stephen.””
He stopped.
“And you.””
Silence.
I searched his face.
“What information?””
Dad reached inside his coat.
For one insane moment I thought he might pull out some secret document.
Instead, he took out a small brass key.
Old.
Scratched.
Ordinary.
I recognized it immediately.
My mother’s key.
She used to keep it on a chain around her neck.
I hadn’t seen it since she died.
My voice dropped.
“Where did you get that?””
Dad held it in his palm.
“Your mother gave it to me three days before her surgery.””
“Why?””
“She made me promise not to use it unless something happened to her.””
My throat tightened.
“What does it open?””
“I didn’t know.””
“And now?””
Dad looked at me.
“Now I think I do.””
Before I could ask, Eric’s confiscated phone began vibrating in Charles’s hand.
Everyone looked at it.
Charles checked the screen.
His face changed.
“What?””
He showed me.
Incoming call.
*RICHARD COLE*
Dad reached for it.
I stopped him.
“No.””
“Maya.””
“He wanted me here?””
“We don’t know that.””
“Then I’m answering.””
I took the phone and pressed accept.
I said nothing.
For two seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a man spoke.
“Eric?””
I knew Richard’s voice.
I had heard it in board meetings dozens of times.
“Wrong person,” I said.
Silence.
Then—
“Maya.””
Not surprise.
Recognition.
He knew.
“You expected me.””
“I hoped you wouldn’t come.””
“Where are you?””
“That doesn’t matter.””
“It matters to me.””
“Listen carefully. Do not leave the hotel with your father.””
My eyes moved to Dad.
His expression froze.
“What did you say?””
Richard’s voice became urgent.
“David is not telling you everything.””
Dad stepped toward me.
“Hang up.””
I raised a hand.
“Why shouldn’t I leave with him?””
Richard exhaled.
“Because the photograph wasn’t sent to me.””
I felt my heartbeat against my ribs.
Dad whispered, “Maya.””
I ignored him.
“Who received it?””
Richard answered.
“Your father.””
I looked at Dad.
His face said enough.
Richard continued.
“And the message attached to it wasn’t a warning about Stephen.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What did it say?””
Richard paused.
Then spoke very softly.
“Ask David what happened the night your mother died.””
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone.
Dad stared at me.
And suddenly the hotel, Vanessa, the stolen money, all of it felt small.
I looked at the brass key in his hand.
“My mother didn’t die during surgery,” I said.
Dad’s eyes filled with something I couldn’t name.
Fear.
Regret.
Maybe both.
“What happened that night?””
He opened his mouth.
Before he could answer, every light in the lobby went out.
Chapter 4: Room 1901
Darkness swallowed the Beaumont Crown.
Someone screamed near the elevators.
Glassware crashed in the lounge.
The piano stopped mid-note.
Then the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the lobby in dim red.
“Noah.””
My son’s name tore out of me.
I ran.
Dad caught my arm.
“Maya, wait.””
I ripped free.
“My son is upstairs.””
“The elevators won’t be running.””
“Then I’m taking the stairs.””
Charles grabbed a flashlight from the security desk.
“I’m coming.””
“So am I,” Dad said.
“No.””
“Maya—”
“You stay where I can see you.””
That hurt him.
I saw it.
I didn’t care.
Not then.
We crossed the lobby toward the emergency stairwell.
Behind us, one of the guards shouted.
“Hey!””
I turned.
Vanessa was gone.
Only one security officer remained beside Eric.
The second guard was staring at an open side door.
“She ran?””
Eric looked stunned.
“When the lights went out.””
Dad swore.
Charles keyed his radio.
No response.
“What happened to backup power?””
“It should have switched instantly.””
“But it didn’t.””
“No.””
That was the second thing that frightened me.
The first was Noah.
I pushed open the stairwell door.
“Nineteenth floor?””
Charles nodded.
“The executive dining area connects to the Presidential level.””
We started climbing.
By the sixth floor, my lungs burned.
By the tenth, my legs were shaking.
Dad kept pace behind me.
He was sixty-seven.