Chapter 3 - The Harbor Hotel
The Sinclair Harbor Hotel sat fifteen miles from downtown, facing a stretch of gray Atlantic water that looked almost black beneath the storm clouds.
My father had purchased it when I was thirteen.
It had been the first property where he let me sit inside executive meetings.
I remembered eating vending-machine crackers while he negotiated renovation contracts late into the night.
Now police tape surrounded the loading entrance.
Marcus rode in a separate car.
I insisted on it.
Vanessa stayed behind with Samuel and two attorneys.
She claimed she knew nothing about the blood.
I believed half of that sentence.
When I arrived, Detective Rachel Monroe met me beside the underground garage.
"We haven't found a body."
"Whose blood?"
"Lab will tell us."
She glanced toward Marcus's sedan.
"The case is gone."
My stomach tightened.
Daniel joined us.
"Exterior cameras?"
"Disabled at 3:51 a.m."
"By whom?"
Rachel pointed upward.
"That's the interesting part."
Someone had entered the hotel's closed security office using an active Sinclair executive credential.
Marcus arrived just as she said it.
His expression changed.
"Which credential?"
Rachel looked at him.
"Yours."
He laughed once.
"Of course it was."
"Are you saying someone copied it?"
"I'm saying someone has been setting me up for months."
I looked at him.
"Convenient."
He turned to me.
"You think I drove here, covered my own trunk in blood, stole a case I didn't know existed, then came back to the board meeting?"
"I don't know what you did."
"After eleven years, you know me better than that."
The words almost made me angry.
"After last night, I'm not sure I know you at all."
We entered the hotel.
Dust covered the lobby furniture.
Plastic sheets hung from the chandeliers.
The ocean pounded against the windows.
Rachel led us into the old security room.
One monitor still worked.
At 3:48 a.m., Edwin Mercer appeared on camera carrying my father's silver case.
He looked over his shoulder several times.
Then another figure entered.
Tall.
Male.
Face hidden beneath a hood.
Edwin backed away.
The stranger raised one hand.
The video froze.
Then went black.
"That's all?"
"Almost."
Rachel rewound six seconds.
"Watch the reflection."
In the dark glass beside the monitor, a second image appeared.
A hand.
A ring.
Heavy gold.
Black stone.
I knew that ring.
My father had owned one exactly like it.
But his was buried with him.
Marcus noticed my expression.
"What?"
I moved closer.
"That ring."
He stared at the reflection.
Then his face drained.
"Richard had one."
"Yes."
Rachel looked between us.
"Could someone else have owned the same type?"
"Of course."
But something inside me had already shifted.
Because my father had told me that ring was custom made.
Only two existed.
One for him.
And one for his younger brother, Thomas Sinclair.
Thomas died when I was nine.
At least that was what I had always been told.
Marcus walked away from the monitor.
"This is insane."
Rachel turned toward me.
"Mrs. Vale, we're going to need a complete list of anyone who had access to your father's records."
"There wasn't one."
"What do you mean?"
"My father trusted almost nobody."
A noise came from the hallway.
Everyone turned.
A metal door slammed.
Daniel ran first.
We followed him through the dark corridor.
At the far end, a man disappeared around the corner.
Daniel shouted.
"Stop."
Footsteps thundered down the service stairs.
By the time we reached the loading dock, nobody was there.
Only a black umbrella lay on the wet concrete.
Rachel picked it up with gloved hands.
A folded envelope was attached to the handle.
My name was written across the front.
AMELIA.
Inside was a photograph.
My father stood outside the Harbor Hotel.
Beside him was Edwin Mercer.
And beside Edwin stood Marcus.
The date printed in the corner was twelve years ago.
One year before Marcus claimed he ever met Mercer.
I turned the photograph over.
May you like
Four words were written on the back.
ASK MARCUS ABOUT THE FIRE.
