Chapter 5 - The Sanctuary of 904
The private executive elevator rode to the ninth floor in complete silence. Arthur held the door open as Clara stepped out into the carpeted corridor of the executive wing.
Suite 904 was pristine. A massive, sunlit corner suite overlooking the glittering lights of downtown Chicago and the dark expanse of Lake Michigan. Warm golden lamps lit the oak-paneled parlor, and fresh orchids sat on the dining table.
Clara walked into the master bedroom, carefully laying Lily onto the plush king-sized bed. She gently pulled off her daughter’s tiny scratched boots, unzipped her jacket, and pulled the crisp white duvet over her shoulders. She set Oliver, the stuffed rabbit, right beside Lily’s cheek. Lily sighed softly in her sleep, cuddling against the plush toy.
Clara stood by the bed for a long moment, kissing her daughter’s forehead.
“Sleep well, my love,” Clara whispered softly. “Mommy is fixing things.”
She walked back into the parlor, where Arthur was waiting near the door, holding a silver vase filled with fresh water. Clara took the vase, carefully placing her bruised red roses inside. Though the stems were bent and some petals had fallen, the flowers stood proud in the water.
“How bad is the operational decline across the Midwest properties, Arthur?” Clara asked, her back turned as she adjusted the roses.
“Mercer has cut housekeeping staff by thirty percent over the last eighteen months to inflate net operational margins,” Arthur reported gravely. “He instituted a system of employee penalties that incentivizes desk clerks to turn away low-tier bookings during peak hours so they can resell rooms at scalped walk-in rates. He’s been taking a percentage of those cash walk-ins under the table.”
Clara’s hands paused on the rose stems. “Embezzlement?”
“And labor code violations,” Arthur added. “We have three pending internal grievances from staff members that Mercer suppressed before they reached corporate HR.”
Clara turned around slowly. The tired, grieving mother who had walked into the lobby twenty minutes ago was gone. In her place stood the chairwoman of a multi-billion-dollar corporate empire—a woman forged in grief, sharp as shattered glass, and completely unyielding.
“Lupita told me he replaced the staff break room with a champagne closet,” Clara said.
“He did,” Arthur confirmed. “Housekeeping staff currently take their meal breaks in the basement laundry corridor.”
Clara pulled off her faded brown leather jacket, revealing a simple, dark green cashmere sweater beneath. She reached into her backpack, pulled out her silver hair clip, and pinned her dark hair up into a tight, professional twist. She wiped away the dust of travel from her boots with a linen towel.
“Is the corporate legal team downstairs?” Clara asked.
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“General Counsel Marcus Vance is in the lobby now,” Arthur said. “He’s holding the termination folders.”
“Good,” Clara said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go down to the ballroom.”
