Chapter 4 - THE TIRE IRON
The entire loading dock went dead silent, save for the low hum of the black SUV’s engine.
I stared at David Klein. For two years, I had watched this man cower before angry guests complaining about lukewarm room service. I had watched him take my badge to protect his own job just an hour ago.
Now, he was standing in a dimly lit parking garage, holding a tire iron and threatening a billionaire murderer.
Arthur Harwood’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He raised a hand to block the glare of the SUV’s headlights.
“David,” Arthur said, his voice dripping with venom. “You are making a very foolish career choice right now.”
“I think my career at the Bellweather is over anyway, sir,” David said, his grip tightening on the tire iron. His hands were shaking, but he didn't back down.
“How did you get that ledger?” Richard asked, stepping forward, placing himself subtly between the armed man and Emily.
David swallowed hard. “When Julie’s ex-husband got dragged into the SUV, he dropped the backpack. He kicked it under a parked car before your men grabbed him.” David gestured to Arthur with the iron. “I was coming down to my car. I saw the whole thing. I saw the girl hide. I checked the backpack, found the ledger, and took it before your goon came back to grab the bag.”
David had swapped the ledger for the eviction notice he had been holding in his own pocket—the same eviction notice he had signed earlier that week to throw Margaret out of her home on Harwood’s orders.
“Give it to me, David,” Arthur commanded, extending his hand. “Hand over the book, and I will write you a check for half a million dollars right now. You can walk away.”
David looked at the blue folder. Then he looked at me.
“I spent my whole life walking away, Julie,” David said softly. “That’s why I took your badge today. Because I was scared. I’m tired of being scared.”
David threw the blue ledger across the concrete floor.
It slid perfectly to a stop at Richard Cole’s feet.
Arthur’s face twisted into absolute rage. “Kill him!” he screamed to the suited man.
The suited man dropped Emily’s arm and reached inside his jacket for his weapon.
I didn't think. I moved.
I sprinted across the gap, grabbing a heavy, industrial fire extinguisher from the wall mount, and swung it with every ounce of strength I had directly into the suited man’s knees.
There was a sickening crack.
The massive man bellowed in pain, collapsing to the concrete before he could unholster his gun.
“Emily, run!” I screamed.
Emily bolted, sprinting past Arthur and throwing herself into my arms. I wrapped her in a fierce embrace, shielding her body with mine as I backed away toward Richard.
Arthur Harwood looked at his fallen guard, then at Richard, who was now holding the blue ledger.
“You think a forty-year-old notebook proves anything?” Arthur sneered, attempting to regain his composure. “My lawyers will bury that in court. It’s hearsay from a dead security guard.”
Richard slowly opened the blue ledger.
He scanned the first page, his eyes moving rapidly over the faded ink.
Then, he stopped.
A cold, terrifying smile spread across Richard’s face.
“You’re right, Arthur,” Richard said softly. “A notebook might be hearsay. But what’s written on page twelve isn't.”
Richard looked up, his eyes locking onto Arthur’s.
“Thomas Ellis didn't just record the payout for my father’s murder,” Richard read from the ledger. “He recorded the location of the safe deposit box where my father hid the evidence of your embezzlement before you killed him.”
Arthur’s face drained of all color.
“My father wasn't stealing from you, Arthur,” Richard said, his voice echoing in the concrete cavern. “He found out you were stealing from the hotel’s union pension fund. He was going to expose you. That’s why you killed him.”
Richard closed the ledger with a sharp snap.
“And according to this,” Richard continued, “the key to that safe deposit box was hidden inside a silver pocket watch.”
My mind raced back to the penthouse. Margaret was sitting up there with the dented cake tin. And inside the tin was the cracked silver pocket watch.
Arthur realized it at the exact same moment.
He didn't lunge for the ledger. He didn't check on his bleeding guard.
Arthur turned and sprinted toward the service elevator.
“He’s going after Margaret!” I yelled.
Richard and I bolted after him, leaving David to watch over Emily. We reached the service elevator just as the doors closed, sealing Arthur inside. The digital numbers above the door began to climb.
He was heading to the penthouse.
“The stairs!” Richard shouted.
We threw open the heavy fire doors and began sprinting up the concrete stairwell. My lungs burned, my legs screaming in protest, but the image of Margaret sitting alone in that suite fueled me.
We reached the 42nd floor, bursting through the fire doors and into the plush, carpeted hallway of the penthouse level.
The heavy double doors to Richard’s suite were wide open.
We rushed inside.
The suite was a wreck. Lamps were overturned, a glass coffee table was shattered, and the velvet chairs were pushed aside.
But Margaret wasn't there.
And neither was the cake tin.
“He took her,” Richard said, his breath hitching as he stared at the empty room.
I walked over to the shattered coffee table. Sitting amidst the broken glass was a single object.
It wasn't the pocket watch.
It was my brass name badge.
The one I had surrendered to David. The one Margaret must have picked up from David’s desk before we went upstairs.
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And written on the back of the brass badge, in shaky black ink from a hotel pen, was a single word.
ROOF.
