Chapter 3 - THE BADGE WITH NO WOMAN
Roman drove back to the Bellini Grand faster than Emily liked and slower than fear demanded.
Neither spoke much.
The message remained open on the dashboard screen.
Badge entered alone.
Camera shows no one.
At 12:41 a.m., the hotel looked almost peaceful from the river.
Guests slept behind hundreds of glowing windows.
Valets moved beneath the awning.
A late wedding party laughed near the revolving doors.
Nobody outside knew the building had become a crime scene without officially becoming one.
Roman parked in the underground executive garage.
Emily reached for the laundry bag containing the ledger.
He caught the handle first.
“You stay in the car.”
She stared at him.
“You brought me here because Margaret’s badge appeared.”
“I brought you because leaving you alone at my house after someone accessed our systems seemed worse.”
“And now?”
“Now I know someone can manipulate internal access controls.”
“So your solution is to leave me alone in a parking garage?”
Roman paused.
“That sounded better before I said it.”
“Yes.”
He released the bag.
They entered through a private service elevator using a mechanical key rather than Roman’s electronic credential.
Emily noticed.
“So you don’t trust the badge system.”
“I trust almost nothing tonight.”
“Healthy.”
“Exhausting.”
The elevator opened on the security level.
Marco DeSantis, Roman’s head of security, stood waiting.
He was in his late forties, thick through the shoulders, with silver beginning at the edges of his close-cropped hair. Emily had seen him dozens of times in the lobby and had never once heard him raise his voice.
His eyes went to the laundry bag.
Then to Emily.
“Sir.”
“Show me the footage.”
Marco led them inside.
The same room where Roman had first watched Emily helping Samuel now felt different.
More dangerous.
Six wall monitors displayed the west service entrance from different angles.
Marco replayed the recording.
12:17:08.
The badge reader beside the door flashed green.
The lock clicked.
The heavy metal door opened three inches.
Nobody entered.
Ten seconds later it closed.
Emily leaned toward the screen.
“Again.”
Marco replayed it.
“Slow.”
He reduced the speed.
The door opened.
Nothing.
Except—
“There.”
Emily pointed.
A thin black object appeared briefly along the lower edge of the door before vanishing.
Roman saw it too.
“What is that?”
Emily looked at Marco.
“You tell us.”
Marco frowned.
“Could be a relay device.”
Roman’s attention sharpened.
“A cloned credential?”
“Possible. Someone could trigger the reader while staying outside camera range.”
“Why use Margaret’s badge?” Emily asked.
Marco looked at her.
“To make us think she was here.”
Roman’s gaze did not leave the screen.
“Or to see who reacted.”
The room went quiet.
Emily felt something move through her spine.
“A lure.”
Roman nodded.
Marco straightened. “Then we should lock down the building.”
“No.”
“Sir?”
“If this was a test, a lockdown confirms it worked.”
Roman turned toward him.
“Who received the badge alert?”
“My desk. Automated flag because the ID is retired.”
“Who else?”
Marco hesitated.
“Executive operations receives after-hours archive alerts.”
“Keller.”
“Yes.”
“And the system vendor?”
“Only if the alert remains unresolved.”
Roman’s voice became quiet.
“Resolve it as equipment failure.”
Marco did not move.
“Sir, with respect, we have a missing former employee, manipulated access records, and armed contact in a restricted basement. We should involve law enforcement.”
Emily looked at Roman.
His face gave nothing away.
Interesting.
Marco had said the thing Roman refused to say earlier.
Call the police.
Roman finally answered.
“Not yet.”
Marco’s jaw shifted.
“Understood.”
Emily did not miss the disapproval.
Neither did Roman.
“Where was Margaret’s original badge stored after retirement?” he asked.
Marco opened a database.
“Destroyed according to procedure.”
“By whom?”
“Human resources.”
“Name.”
Marco typed.
The record appeared.
Processed by: T. Keller.
Emily released a slow breath.
Roman said, “Find Keller.”
Marco called operations.
No answer.
He tried Keller’s mobile.
Voicemail.
Roman’s eyes hardened.
“His office.”
They found it empty.
The desk was too clean.
Not ordinary clean.
Departure clean.
No coffee mug.
No framed family photograph.
No charging cable.
The drawer where Keller kept peppermint candies stood open and empty.
Emily noticed because Walter stole one every Tuesday after lunch.
Roman opened the lower cabinet.
Nothing.
“He left,” Emily said.
Marco checked his phone.
“His car exited the garage at 10:08.”
Roman turned. “After the footage meeting?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone see him leave?”
“Camera shows him alone.”
Emily walked toward a corkboard beside the filing cabinets.
Most pinned notices had been removed.
One remained.
A staff safety reminder.
Beneath it, barely visible, a small yellow thread protruded from the corner.
Emily stopped.
Yellow.
The same color Margaret used to repair the torn handle of her blue flower tote.
She pulled the notice away.
Behind it was a brass locker token taped to the wall.
Number 47.
Roman came closer.
“Is that hers?”
“Maybe.”
Emily turned the token over.
Two words had been scratched into the metal.
ASK SAMUEL.
Samuel Price was still on duty.
At nearly one in the morning, the seventy-three-year-old doorman stood beneath the awning as if the hotel had personally appointed him guardian of Chicago weather.
When Roman approached, Samuel’s posture became straighter.
“Mr. Bellini.”
“Samuel.”
Roman held out the token.
“Do you recognize this?”
Samuel looked at it.
His expression changed.
Emily saw fear.
Then annoyance at himself for showing it.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Keller’s office,” Emily said.
Samuel’s gaze moved to her.
“Miss Hayes, you shouldn’t be mixed up in this.”
“That sentence has become very popular tonight.”
Roman stepped closer.
“What is locker forty-seven?”
Samuel looked toward the revolving doors.
Guests came and went.
A taxi pulled away.
Finally he sighed.
“Old union coat room.”
“The hotel hasn’t had a union coat room in twenty years,” Roman said.
“That’s why nobody checks it.”
Samuel removed his burgundy gloves.
“Margaret came by about a month ago. She asked me if the old lockers were still downstairs behind banquet receiving.”
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
Samuel’s eyes settled on Roman.
“She asked if your father ever spoke to me before he died.”
Roman became motionless.
“Did he?”
Samuel looked suddenly much older.
“Yes.”
Emily watched Roman absorb it.
“What did he say?”
“That if anything happened to him, I should keep my job.”
Roman frowned.
“That’s all?”
“No.”
Samuel swallowed.
“He said men like your uncle count on old employees disappearing because old employees remember who carried which boxes before the paperwork changed.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were thirty-one. Your father had just died. Vittorio was beside you every minute telling everybody he was protecting the family.”
Samuel’s voice lowered.
“And I had a wife with cancer.”
There was no accusation in the confession.
Only shame.
Roman looked at him for a long moment.
Then said, “You owed your wife survival. Not me heroics.”
Samuel’s eyes glistened.
He looked away.
Emily understood in that moment why people might someday trust Roman if he learned to speak like that before a crisis forced him to.
They went downstairs.
Locker 47 stood behind a stack of banquet chairs in a corridor smelling of dust and old carpet.
The token fit the lock.
Inside was no ledger.
No money.
No weapon.
Only forty-seven white envelopes.
Each bore an employee’s name.
Emily recognized every one from the termination list.
Samuel Price.
Walter Green.
Luis Ortega.
Henry Coleman.
And forty-three others.
Roman opened Samuel’s first.
Inside were photocopies of pay stubs spanning decades, pension calculations, handwritten corrections, and a note from Margaret.
IF THEY FIRE YOU BEFORE RECONCILIATION, DEMAND AN INDEPENDENT BENEFITS AUDIT BEFORE SIGNING ANY RELEASE.
Emily opened Walter’s.
Same warning.
Different numbers.
Every packet showed deductions that did not match final retirement projections.
Roman’s mouth became a hard line.
“This is why the layoffs had to happen now.”
Emily looked up.
“Why?”
“Acquisition.”
“What acquisition?”
Roman hesitated.
“The Bellini Group is refinancing three properties and acquiring a resort company in Arizona. Due diligence begins next week.”
Emily understood.
“If these pension liabilities are discovered before closing—”
“The financing changes. Possibly collapses.”
“And if forty-seven people are terminated and sign severance releases?”
Roman looked at the packets.
“Someone may believe the liability becomes easier to contain.”
Emily felt sick.
“They’re not employees to whoever designed this. They’re loose ends.”
A voice behind them said, “That was never my plan.”
They turned.
Thomas Keller stood at the end of the corridor.
His tie was gone.
His face looked gray.
Roman moved between him and Emily without thinking.
Keller noticed.
“Good,” he said bitterly. “At least you’ve finally learned to stand in the correct direction.”
Roman’s voice went cold.
“Where have you been?”
“Trying not to get killed.”
Keller reached slowly inside his coat.
Roman’s hand moved toward his own weapon.
Keller stopped.
“Relax.”
He pulled out a flash drive and dropped it on the floor between them.
“If I wanted you dead, Roman, I would have let you sign those termination orders tomorrow.”
Emily stared.
Keller looked at her.
“I pushed to fire you.”
“I noticed.”
“I needed you away from the building.”
“That is an interesting revision.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why?”
“Because Margaret told me you had the key.”
Emily’s blood went cold.
Roman took one step forward.
“How did you know that?”
Keller laughed once without humor.
“Because eight years ago your father trusted four people with what he found.”
He counted them with his fingers.
“Margaret. Clara. Me. Vittorio.”
Emily’s voice became thin.
“My mother died.”
Keller’s face broke for half a second.
“I know.”
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was in danger?”
“Yes.”
The honesty struck harder than a lie.
Emily moved toward him.
Roman did not stop her.
“You knew?”
“I told her to leave Chicago.”
“And when she didn’t?”
“I was a coward.”
Keller looked at Roman.
“Just like I was after Alberto died.”
Roman’s eyes were unreadable.
“Who killed him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Keller pointed at the flash drive.
“But I know who benefited. I know who canceled the audit. I know who ordered the pension data moved into shell administrators. And I know who has been watching Margaret for six weeks.”
Roman glanced toward the drive.
“Vittorio?”
Keller’s eyes shifted past him.
“No.”
A distant elevator chimed.
Keller’s face changed.
“Your security chief.”
Roman did not react outwardly.
Emily did.
“Marco?”
Keller backed toward a fire door.
“He has reported to Vittorio since before your father died.”
The corridor lights went out.
Darkness swallowed them.
A gunshot cracked from the far end.
Keller jerked.
Emily heard his body hit the wall.
Roman grabbed her and pulled her behind the banquet chairs as a second shot punched through metal where her head had been.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Keller lay on the floor twenty feet away, one hand pressed to his shoulder.
The fire door behind him was open.
A shadow disappeared through it.
Roman drew his gun.
But Emily was staring at Keller.
He lifted his blood-covered hand and pointed weakly toward the flash drive.
“Room,” he gasped.
Roman crouched beside him.
“What room?”
Keller struggled to breathe.
“Six fourteen.”
Emily leaned closer.
“Where?”
May you like
Keller’s eyes found hers.
“Where Margaret is hiding.”
