Chapter Two — Breakfast at the Top
Ryan woke the next morning believing he had finally arrived.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Royal Penthouse Suite, illuminating a breakfast table covered with silver trays, fresh pastries, imported fruit, and half-empty bottles of champagne.
Sabrina stood near the window wearing one of the hotel’s white silk robes.
“This,” she said, turning toward him, “is the life you should have had all along.”
Ryan smiled.
He had slept badly, but he refused to admit it.
His phone had stopped receiving company emails shortly after midnight. Several financial applications repeatedly rejected his login attempts.
He blamed the hotel network.
Sabrina walked over and adjusted his tie.
“Once your hotel deal closes, you’ll never have to go back to that little house.”
Ryan glanced at himself in the mirror.
“I won’t.”
“And Charlotte?”
“She’ll get the divorce papers.”
Sabrina smiled.
“Good.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Ryan expected room service.
Instead, four uniformed hotel employees entered carrying garment bags.
Behind them walked Ethan.
“Compliments of management,” Ethan said.
Ryan’s confidence returned.
He looked at Sabrina.
“You see? They know who matters.”
Ethan’s expression did not change.
“Madam Chair has requested your presence in the executive conference room at nine o’clock.”
Ryan paused.
“Madam Chair?”
“Charlotte Bennett.”
Sabrina laughed.
“Your front desk employees should be more careful with names.”
Ethan looked directly at her.
“They are extremely careful with names, Ms. Monroe.”
Ryan’s smile disappeared.
“What does Charlotte have to do with the chairwoman?”
Ethan calmly placed a black envelope on the table.
“Everything.”
He turned and left.
Ryan tore open the envelope.
Inside was a formal summons to an emergency meeting of the Bennett Global Hospitality board.
His name appeared under the heading:
Subject of Internal Investigation.
Sabrina snatched the paper from his hand.
“This is a joke.”
Ryan looked toward the door.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
He grabbed his phone and called his assistant.
The call went directly to voicemail.
He tried the CFO.
Voicemail.
Legal.
Disconnected.
His bank.
Account access temporarily restricted.
“What did you do?” Sabrina asked.
“Nothing.”
She stared at him.
“What did you do, Ryan?”
He reached for his jacket.
“Get dressed.”
Sabrina crossed her arms.
“I’m not walking into some ridiculous meeting because your wife is angry.”
Ryan stepped closer.
“My wife doesn’t have the authority to call a board meeting.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
He did not answer.
At exactly nine o’clock, the private elevator opened on the executive floor.
Ryan and Sabrina stepped into a corridor lined with framed photographs documenting the history of The Monarch Grand.
Presidents.
Actors.
Foreign dignitaries.
Business leaders.
At the end of the corridor hung a large oil portrait of the hotel’s founder, William Bennett.
Beside him stood his daughter.
Charlotte.
The portrait had been painted fifteen years earlier.
Her hair was longer, and she wore a formal black dress, but the face was unmistakable.
Sabrina stopped walking.
“No.”
Ryan stared at the gold plaque beneath the frame.
CHARLOTTE BENNETT
CHAIRWOMAN AND CONTROLLING SHAREHOLDER
BENNETT GLOBAL HOSPITALITY GROUP
His breathing changed.
“That’s impossible.”
A security officer opened the conference-room doors.
Inside, every board member was already seated.
Charlotte sat at the head of the table.
She had changed clothes.
The cardigan was gone.
She now wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, a white silk blouse, and her father’s vintage gold watch.
Her hair fell neatly over her shoulders.
She did not look louder than she had the night before.
She looked exactly as calm.
That frightened Ryan more than anger would have.
Sabrina recovered first.
She lifted her chin.
“Charlotte, whatever performance this is—”
“Ms. Monroe,” Arthur Harrison interrupted, “you are not authorized to address the chairwoman unless invited.”
Sabrina’s face flushed.
Ryan approached the table.
“Charlotte.”
She looked at him.
For the first time in their marriage, he understood that he had never truly known the woman sitting before him.
“You said your father owned a small hotel company,” he whispered.
“He did,” Charlotte replied.
“How small?”
“When I was a child? Four hotels.”
She gestured toward the screens around the room.
“He expanded.”
Ryan looked at the map displaying dozens of properties across the world.
“You lied to me.”
A faint shift moved through Charlotte’s expression.
“No. I told you my family was in hospitality. You decided that meant I was insignificant.”
Arthur opened a file.
“Mr. Collins, this meeting concerns financial misconduct, fraud, misuse of corporate property, falsified authorization documents, and attempted diversion of investor funds.”
Ryan’s face lost its color.
Sabrina stepped backward.
Charlotte reached into her jacket pocket.
She removed the folded ten-dollar bill.
Then she placed it in front of Sabrina.
“You dropped this.”
No one in the room smiled.
“You told me to buy lunch,” Charlotte continued. “But since breakfast was charged to my hotel, I thought you might need it more.”
Sabrina looked at Ryan.
“What is she talking about?”
Charlotte touched a remote.
The screens came alive.
Every charge from the penthouse appeared.
Champagne.
Jewelry delivery.
Private dining.
Two luxury spa packages.
A fourteen-thousand-dollar dress.
All placed on Ryan’s corporate account.
Charlotte looked at him.
“Your final evening as an executive cost the company eighty-six thousand dollars.”
Ryan gripped the back of a chair.
“My final evening?”
Arthur slid a document across the table.
“Effective immediately, your employment is terminated.”
Ryan did not sit.
May you like
He could no longer feel his legs.
“And that,” Charlotte said, “is only the beginning.”
