Chapter 8 - The Ledger
Claire woke Noah at 5:23 a.m.
Not because she wanted to.
Because Daniel called and told her to leave the hotel immediately.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Dad may be coming back.”
Claire looked toward the door.
“Police are everywhere.”
“He knows the hotel better than they do.”
Daniel had grown up there.
So had Michael.
The Bennett family owned thirty percent of Hawthorne Hospitality.
Charles knew every service corridor, staff entrance, maintenance elevator, and executive access code.
Claire dressed Noah in clothes brought by hotel staff.
He refused to let go of her hand.
“Are we going home?”
“Not yet.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.”
They took a service elevator with two officers.
It stopped on the second floor.
The lights flickered.
One officer touched his radio.
“Control?”
Static.
Claire’s stomach tightened.
The doors opened.
Empty corridor.
“Stay inside,” the officer ordered.
Then a fire alarm began ringing.
Noah covered his ears.
Red emergency lights flashed.
The elevator doors refused to close.
“Move.”
The officers led Claire and Noah toward a stairwell.
Halfway there, Noah stopped.
“What?”
He stared down another corridor.
“That’s Grandpa’s room.”
Claire followed his gaze.
Executive Suite 204.
“Noah, we need to go.”
“The book.”
“What book?”
“Grandpa gave me a book.”
The officer shook his head.
“Later.”
Noah pulled against Claire.
“He said never let Dad find it.”
Claire froze.
“What kind of book?”
“A horse book.”
The ledger.
She understood instantly.
Charles had hidden evidence in plain sight, perhaps intending to move it later.
Or perhaps Noah had unknowingly taken it.
“Where is it?”
Noah pointed.
“In there.”
One officer radioed Hale.
No response.
The fire alarm continued.
Claire made a decision.
“Get Noah downstairs.”
“No!”
He clung to her.
“I’m not leaving you.”
Claire knelt.
“You trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust me now.”
Noah looked terrified.
But he nodded.
One officer took him toward the stairwell.
Claire remained with the second.
They entered Suite 204.
The room looked untouched.
No book.
Then Claire saw the toy chest.
Inside was a children’s book.
The Bronze Horse.
She opened it.
The center pages had been cut away.
Inside rested a black notebook.
Handwritten numbers filled every page.
Dates.
Accounts.
Names.
Payments.
Charles Bennett’s entire hidden network.
Claire barely breathed.
“We found it.”
A voice came from behind her.
“No.”
Claire turned.
Charles Bennett stood in the doorway.
He looked nothing like the elegant patriarch from the wedding.
His tie was gone.
His silver hair was disordered.
May you like
And in his hand was an access card.
“Actually,” he said, “you found it for me.”
