"Is that so?" I asked gently.
"Yes, it is," Vanessa snapped, her patience gone. "Now get out, before I have you arrested for criminal trespassing."
She reached into her blazer, pulled out a sleek walkie-talkie, and pressed the button.
"Marcus to the front desk. We have a vagrant."
Less than twenty seconds later, a massive man in a dark blue security uniform hurried across the lobby.
He was in his late forties, heavily built, but he looked deeply exhausted.
His name tag read ‘Marcus.’
"Get this trash out of my lobby," Vanessa ordered, not even looking at Marcus.
Marcus looked at me, then down at the spilled water, and his jaw tightened.
He didn't look angry at me; he looked ashamed.
"Come on, buddy," Marcus muttered, his voice surprisingly gentle as he reached out. "Let's go. Don't make this hard."
I stood my ground for a moment longer.
I looked at Vanessa Sterling.
"What's your name?" I asked her, keeping my voice dead level.
She narrowed her eyes, a smug smile touching the corners of her mouth.
"Vanessa Sterling. Acting General Manager," she declared proudly. "Remember it when you try to beg for change on my block again. This place only serves people who can afford to walk through those doors."
I nodded slowly, letting the gravity of her words settle into the room.
"Vanessa Sterling," I repeated quietly.
She rolled her eyes. "Marcus, drag him out. Now."
Marcus clamped a massive, heavy hand onto my shoulder.
I didn't fight him.
I allowed him to turn me around and push me toward the revolving glass doors, back toward the freezing, violent storm outside.
But as Marcus marched me across the vast marble floor, I wasn't feeling fear, and I wasn't feeling shame.
I reached into my deep canvas pocket and pressed the power button on my satellite phone, feeling a cold, focused fury beginning to burn in my chest.
The heavy brass revolving door pushed me out onto the icy pavement, the sudden blast of freezing wind cutting right through my canvas jacket.
Marcus kept his heavy hand on my shoulder, steering me away from the pristine main entrance and toward the concrete alcove near the valet stand.
Once we were out of the direct line of sight of the grand lobby windows, Marcus immediately let go of my arm.
He took a step back, pulling his radio cord tight against his chest, and let out a long, foggy breath.
"I'm sorry, man," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a raspy, genuinely apologetic register. "I really am. But if you don't keep walking, she'll have my job by the end of the hour."
I leaned against the freezing stone wall of the building, pulling my beanie down further over my ears.
"She seems like a difficult woman to work for," I said mildly, watching his reaction.
Marcus let out a bitter, exhausted laugh.
"Difficult isn't the word," he muttered, glancing nervously back toward the glass doors. "She's a nightmare. She took over three months ago, and this place has turned into a prison. The old GM used to care about folks. Now? If you don't look like you own a yacht, she wants you gone."
I needed more information.
The pieces of Vanessa Sterling’s operation were starting to form a very ugly picture in my mind.
"I mentioned the Community Access program to her," I said, rubbing my gloved hands together. "The food vouchers. The coffee."
Marcus winced, shaking his head.
"Gone. All of it. First week she took over, she had me unbolt that brass plaque from the wall. Threw it straight in the dumpster. Told us the 'Community Access' budget was being reallocated to her new Elite Tier services."
"Elite Tier?" I repeated.
Marcus nodded, reaching into his pocket.
He pulled out a crumpled, glossy receipt that looked like it had been discarded near the valet podium.
He handed it to me.
"Look at this. She's got us comping two-thousand-dollar bottles of champagne for the VIP suites. Hiring private security for local influencers. She says it’s an ‘ownership mandate’ to clear out the riffraff and cater only to the top one percent."
I stared at the crumpled receipt.
The corporate logo of Vance Hospitality was printed at the top.