Chapter 5 - DANIEL HAD KNOWN BEFORE HE DIED
I read Daniel’s email alone.
At least the first time.
Clara,
If you’re reading this, I was either right or paranoid enough to embarrass myself after death.
That sounded exactly like him.
I cried before the second paragraph.
For six months I’ve been tracking irregular refunds, vendor contracts, and corporate reservation manipulation at the Chicago property.
Six months.
While I packed Lily’s preschool lunches.
While Daniel kissed me goodbye.
While he came home late saying expansion work was exhausting.
He had been investigating.
Victor knows I’m looking.
I don’t know whether he is involved or covering for someone.
Do not confront him alone.
My breath shook.
Daniel named Robert Ellison too.
Not Patrick.
Patrick had not worked there yet.
Robert.
Victor.
Lakeshore in an earlier form.
Then:
There is a second set of books.
I believe it is stored physically because someone keeps bypassing digital records.
Look for the old laundry accounting room below B2.
I stopped.
Old laundry accounting room.
The hotel’s basement plans had been changed during renovation.
I remembered arguing with Daniel about it.
He insisted one storage corridor remain untouched.
I thought he was nostalgic about the original building.
He was hiding evidence.
Then the final paragraph.
If I’m wrong, laugh at me.
If I’m right, protect the employees before the company.
A hotel is not marble, Clara.
It is people trusting us while they are tired and far from home.
I covered my mouth.
Behind me, the door opened softly.
Lily.
“Mom?”
I wiped my face.
“Hey.”
“Are you sad about Daddy?”
Children somehow know which grief belongs to which person.
“Yes.”
She climbed beside me.
I showed her nothing.
Not yet.
She leaned against my arm.
“Can we take his flowers later?”
“Yes.”
The roses.
Why we had come.
Daniel’s death anniversary.
Then Lily said:
“Daddy hated basements.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“He told me.”
My pulse jumped.
“When?”
She frowned, trying to remember.
“In the video.”
“What video?”
“Birthday one.”
Daniel had recorded dozens of videos before he died because he traveled often.
Messages for Lily.
I had saved them all.
Lily continued.
“He said if I ever got scared in a hotel, don’t go to the basement.”
My skin went cold.
That was not something Daniel would randomly tell a four-year-old.
“Which birthday video?”
“Five?”
She was six now.
The video had been recorded months before his death and scheduled through a family app.
I opened it.
Daniel appeared on screen.
Smiling.
“Hey, Lilybug.”
Normal.
Then near the end:
“And remember, if Mommy ever takes you to the Chicago hotel and you play explorer, no basement adventures. Especially the old laundry hall. Daddy keeps boring grown-up secrets there.”
He winked.
Boring grown-up secrets.
A message hidden inside a child’s video because Daniel knew I would preserve anything made for Lily.
I called Rachel.
“We’re going to B2.”
The old laundry hall smelled like concrete and detergent.
Behind a locked maintenance cage, we found a wall cabinet.
Daniel’s old master key opened it.
Inside:
Ledgers.
Cash receipts.
Copies of guest complaints.
Vendor contracts.
And a hard drive.
Rachel whispered:
“Jesus.”
Then we heard footsteps.
Not behind us.
Ahead.
Someone else was already in the basement.
The overhead lights went out.
May you like
And a man’s voice came through the darkness.
“You should have stayed upstairs, Clara.”
Related Stories
