Chapter 8 - The Grand Continental
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The Grand Continental Hotel was a towering monument to wealth and discretion. It was where the city’s elite went when they didn't want to be seen.
I parked my car a block away and walked to the designated meeting spot in a dark alley across from the service entrance.
Mark was already there, leaning against a black SUV, smoking a cigarette. He looked entirely calm, which made the violent potential of the situation even more terrifying.
“My guys inside confirm Daniel checked in twenty minutes ago,” Mark said, tossing the cigarette into a puddle. “Ashley just arrived through the underground garage.”
“Do you have the keycard?” I asked.
Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black plastic card. “The general manager owes my family a very large, very old debt. We have full access.”
“Good.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Claire?” Mark asked, his dark eyes studying my face. “Once we open that door, there is no going back. The fallout will be catastrophic.”
“I’ve been living in a catastrophe for months,” I replied coldly. “It’s time they lived in it too.”
We entered through the service doors, bypassing the crowded, glamorous lobby. Mark’s men had secured the service elevator, and we rode it in heavy, suffocating silence up to the penthouse level.
The hallway was lined with thick, expensive carpet that absorbed the sound of our footsteps. We stopped in front of Suite 401.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. This was it. The point of no return.
I nodded to Mark.
He didn't hesitate. He slid the keycard into the electronic lock. The light flashed green, and the heavy mahogany door clicked open.
We stepped inside.
The suite was massive, dimly lit with scattered candles. Soft jazz played from a Bluetooth speaker.
We didn't need to search for them. The sounds coming from the master bedroom were unmistakable.
I walked across the plush living room, Mark a silent, imposing shadow right behind me. I reached the open doorway of the bedroom.
Daniel and Ashley were tangled in the expensive white sheets, completely oblivious to the world outside their illicit bubble.
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I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I reached over to the wall panel and flipped on the glaring, brilliant overhead lights.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I said, my voice echoing like a gunshot in the room.
