The crowbar swung toward his skull. Elias caught it with both hands, muscles straining as he wrestled for control. The attacker was strong, but Elias had fought in closer quarters than this storage unit. He drove his knee into the man's stomach, broke the grip on the weapon, and swung the crowbar across the attacker's legs. The man went down hard, cursing.
The first attacker pulled a knife from his boot and slashed toward Elias's chest. Elias twisted away, the blade missing him by inches, and grabbed a heavy ledger book from the fallen boxes. He swung it like a club, catching the knifeman across the temple.
Both attackers were down, groaning on the concrete floor. "Call the police," one of them gasped.
"No police," Elias said, breathing hard. "You're going to tell me who sent you."
The first attacker struggled to his knees, then suddenly bolted for the door. He disappeared into the maze of storage corridors before Elias could react. But the second man wasn't fast enough. As he tried to crawl away, his jacket caught on a sharp edge of metal shelving. When he pulled free, something fell from his pocket onto the concrete floor.
Elias picked it up and held it to the light. A hotel access card, white plastic with a magnetic strip and the Monroe Crown Hotel logo embossed in gold lettering.
Miriam Bell walked through the Monroe Crown Hotel's marble lobby with her head down and her shoulders tight. Every step felt like a betrayal, but she knew this was the only way to help Altha. She had to make Preston believe she was scared, broken, and ready to fall in line.
The elevator ride to the executive floor stretched like an eternity. Her hands shook as she smoothed her uniform and prepared to face the man who had threatened to destroy her life just hours earlier. Preston's office door was already open when she arrived. He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, fingers steepled, watching her with the cold satisfaction of a predator who had cornered his prey.
"Miriam," he said without looking up from his computer screen. "Come in. Close the door behind you."
She obeyed, her heart pounding as the heavy door clicked shut.
"Sit." His voice carried the sharp edge of absolute authority.
Miriam perched on the edge of the leather chair, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She forced herself to meet his gaze. Preston's smile was thin and cruel, the expression of a man who enjoyed watching people squirm. "I want you to explain to me exactly what happened in my lobby yesterday," he said. "And I want you to explain why you thought it was appropriate to call a confused old trespasser 'ma'am' in front of my investors."
Miriam's throat felt dry. "Sir, I... I thought I recognized her from somewhere. I was mistaken."
"Mistaken?" Preston leaned back in his chair. "That's an interesting word choice because what you actually did was embarrass me, embarrass this hotel, and create a scene that could have damaged our reputation during the most important week in our company's history."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Vale."
"Are you?" Preston stood and walked around the desk, positioning himself directly in front of her chair. "Because sorry isn't going to fix the damage you caused. Sorry isn't going to make my investors forget that one of my managers treated a delusional woman like she belonged in my hotel."
Miriam kept her head bowed, but her eyes flicked quickly across his desk: scattered papers, guest folders, and his open laptop screen showing a calendar filled with meetings. She caught sight of a folder marked "Investor Gala - Friday Evening" and another labeled "Final Sale Documents - Saturday 9:00 a.m."
"I want you to say it." Preston continued, his voice growing harsher. "I want you to admit that you were wrong to treat that woman with any kind of respect. Say it."
The words tasted like poison, but Miriam forced them out. "I was wrong to treat her with respect, sir."
"And what else?"
"I... I embarrassed you and the hotel."
"That's right." Preston returned to his chair, clearly enjoying her humiliation. "And if you ever, ever make that mistake again, you'll be out on the street so fast your head will spin. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, sir."
Preston opened a desk drawer and pulled out an invoice. As he set it aside, Miriam glimpsed the letterhead: Blackstone Security Services with a note clipped to the top that read "Access Card Replacement Delivered."
"Now," Preston said, shuffling through more papers. "I'm implementing some new security protocols. If that woman shows up here again, she is to be treated as a banned individual. No service, no recognition, no conversation. Security will escort her out immediately. Understood?"
"And Miriam." Preston's voice dropped to a whisper. "I've already spoken to the day shift, the concierge team, and the front desk staff. I've explained that this woman suffers from severe memory problems and believes she has some connection to this hotel. It's a sad situation, really. Mental illness in the elderly is tragic."
Miriam's stomach turned, but she nodded.
"You're dismissed," Preston said, waving his hand like he was shooing away a fly. "And remember, you're lucky to still have a job."
Miriam stood on unsteady legs and walked to the door. As she reached for the handle, Preston called out one more time. "Oh, and Miriam, don't think I'll forget this conversation. I'll be watching you very closely."