PART 1
“Lord, with that child asleep and those damaged flowers, maybe you’ll want to look for a cheaper motel a little later.”
Ethan Vance was paralyzed in front of the Grand Regent Hotel marble desk in downtown Chicago. Her six-year-old daughter, Lily, was sleeping on her shoulder, and a bouquet of red roses hung from her hand.
She remained silent, not because the insult didn’t hurt, but because Lily was exhausted after a delayed flight from Denver. One learns to swallow pride when a tired child finally falls asleep.
“I have a reservation,” Ethan said quietly. With Ethan Vance.
The receptionist, Patricia, examined him closely: worn leather jacket, fledgling beard, broken backpack, tired eyes. Next to her, another employee named Karla crossed her arms.
Patricia typed, “There’s nothing here.”
“The reservation was made through the headquarters,” Ethan said. “Could you check the executive bloc?”
Karla laughed in her teeth. “People think that if they argue hard enough, a luxury suite will magically appear.”
Patricia added: “We are complete. Try one of the budget hostels near the road.”
Ethan kept his voice calm. “My daughter needs a bed. Please check again.”
Neither of the two women knew the truth.
The Great Regent belonged to Ethan.
It was one of the seven luxury hotels of the company it had built over eleven years. I used to visit it without warning, dressed in simplicity, just to watch how his staff treated ordinary guests.
Before I could ever ask again, a housekeeper walked out a side door with folded towels. On his plate he put Lupita.
He saw the sleeping child, the bent roses, and the way receptionists looked at Ethan.
“Have you checked the secondary corporate tab?” Lupita asked delicately. Sometimes executive bookings don’t appear in the first search.
Karla said, “Go back to your flat. This is not your department.”
Lupita didn’t move. “A tired father with a sleeping little girl is my business if you leave him waiting in the lobby.”
Patricia checked it again.
His face paled.
“Suite 904,” he whispered. Corporate reserve. Confirmed two weeks ago.
Lupita looked at the roses. “They’re beautiful, sir. Are they for someone special?
Ethan looked down. “My wife. Tomorrow marks three years since his death.”
Lupita’s face softened. “I’m so sorry. Let me get a vase. You don’t have to let flowers like that wither.”
As he walked away, Karla muttered, “That’s why you don’t have to give too much freedom to the cleaning staff. They begin to believe that they own the place.”
Ethan looked up.
“Repeat what you just said.”
PART 2 Continues on the next page
