Chapter 4 - The Gold Room
The Gold Room on the ninth floor smelled of stale tobacco, lavender polish, and the cold grease of half-eaten catering trays.
It was a windowless room, tucked deep into the interior structure of the hotel, originally designed as a private card room for railroad tycoons. The walls were lined with thick, gilded wood paneling that absorbed sound like a sponge.
Marcus Voss sat at the end of a long mahogany conference table.
He was fifty years old, with thin white hair slicked back from a face that looked like it had been carved out of salt pork. He wore a three-piece charcoal suit and three gold rings on his right hand.
Behind him stood five men.
Not bouncers. Not street muscle.
These were Voss’s inner circle—the men from the docks who had spent ten years running enforcement on the river. They were quiet, heavy-jawed men with flat eyes and thick fingers, their coats unbuttoned just enough to allow a smooth draw.
Leo walked into the room alone. Quinn remained outside the heavy oak door, standing in the carpeted hallway with her hands tucked into the oversized pockets of her pea coat.
"Leo," Marcus Voss said, not rising from his chair. He gestured to the empty seat at the far end of the table. "You look tired. Tommy’s death must be keeping you up."
Leo sat down slowly. "Tommy was an employee, Marcus. I don't lose sleep over payroll."
"Is that why you hired a child to drive your car?" Marcus chuckled. His five men offered low, rumbling laughs from the shadows behind him. "I saw her through the security monitor. My God, Leo. Is the Mercer family so poor you're hiring housekeepers for security?"
"She was cheap," Leo said mildly. "And she doesn't eat much."
"Well, she's going to be looking for a new master by six o'clock," Marcus said. He leaned forward, resting his gold-ringed hands on the mahogany table. "Because we aren't leaving this room until you sign over the rail yards in Joliet."
Leo leaned back, taking out a small silver pocket watch. "I have a dinner at seven, Marcus. Make your speech."
"It's not a speech, Leo. It's an arithmetic lesson," Marcus said softly. He raised his left hand, tapping his fingers against the wood once.
Behind him, the five men didn't reach for their guns.
They reached for heavy iron saps and silenced automatic pistols hidden beneath the table lining.
At the same instant, the thick oak door behind Leo clicked shut.
Not from the inside.
From the hallway, the heavy brass bolt slid into place with a clear, heavy thud.
Marcus smiled, his eyes cold and small. "Did you think I brought you here to talk, Leo? The hotel belongs to my cousin. The security feeds are looped. And your little driver is currently being handled by two of my boys in the hall."
Leo didn't move. He looked at the locked door.
May you like
Then he looked at Marcus.
"You should have checked her coat," Leo said softly.
