Chapter 9 — The Video From the Hotel Lobby
Chapter 9 — The Video From the Hotel Lobby
The first thing I heard was the siren.
The second was Marcus saying my name.
“Charlotte, don't move.”
I stood in the underground archive with my mother's charter pressed against my chest.
Adrian was bleeding on the floor.
Thomas was staring at the locked door.
And somewhere above us, every alarm in Solmere was screaming.
But there was something else.
A red light on the security monitor.
Recording.
I looked at it.
“Marcus.”
He followed my gaze.
The camera in the archive hallway was still active.
“How long has that been recording?”
“Since before the shooting.”
“Can we access it?”
Marcus moved to the console.
“Maybe.”
I crouched beside Adrian.
His eyes were closed.
I checked his breathing.
Still alive.
Barely.
“Call an ambulance.”
Marcus hesitated.
“Charlotte—”
“Now.”
He pulled out his phone.
Thomas stood motionless.
I looked at him.
“Why aren't you moving?”
His face was pale.
“Because if we call the police…”
“What?”
“They'll find the money.”
I stared.
“The second account.”
He nodded.
“Exactly.”
“What is in it?”
“Enough to destroy everyone connected to Solmere.”
“Then let it.”
Thomas looked at me.
“You don't understand what happens when government investigators see those records.”
“I understand that innocent people don't hide millions of dollars.”
He looked away.
I stood.
“Thomas.”
He didn't respond.
“Tell me everything.”
His eyes finally met mine.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother told me that if you ever discovered the second account, you would become a target.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I'm already a target.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“They're not trying to take Solmere anymore.”
“Then what do they want?”
Thomas whispered:
“You.”
Marcus returned.
“Ambulance is coming.”
“Good.”
“Police too.”
“Fine.”
He stared at me.
“You're serious?”
“Yes.”
“We need to get that footage first.”
I nodded.
The monitor showed the corridor.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a timestamp.
11:43:07 PM.
I leaned closer.
“That's when the shooting happened.”
Marcus rewound it.
The footage jumped backward.
11:42.
11:41.
11:40.
A man appeared in the hallway.
He wore a dark coat.
His face was hidden.
He entered the archive.
Then another person appeared.
A woman.
I froze.
“Stop.”
Marcus paused the video.
The woman's face was partially visible.
I recognized her.
“No.”
Thomas stepped closer.
“Who is that?”
I stared at the screen.
“Vivian.”
The footage continued.
Vivian entered the hallway.
She spoke to the man.
We couldn't hear the conversation.
Then she handed him something.
A keycard.
The man entered the archive.
Three minutes later, Vivian left.
The man remained.
Then Adrian arrived.
The footage showed him entering.
Then the gunshot.
I looked at Marcus.
“Vivian brought him here.”
“Yes.”
“Then she knows who shot Adrian.”
“Probably.”
“Where is she now?”
Marcus checked his phone.
“She left the building.”
“Find her.”
“Charlotte—”
“Find her.”
He nodded.
We moved Adrian to the hallway.
The ambulance arrived ten minutes later.
Paramedics rushed inside.
I stayed beside him until they carried him away.
Before they closed the ambulance doors, Adrian opened his eyes.
“Charlotte.”
I leaned closer.
“What?”
“Your father…”
His voice was weak.
“He didn't die.”
“I know.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
His fingers grabbed mine.
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
“He didn't survive the accident.”
I froze.
“Then what happened?”
Adrian's eyes filled with fear.
“He was taken.”
“By whom?”
Adrian whispered:
“Your mother.”
Then his eyes closed.
The ambulance doors shut.
I stood there in shock.
Marcus approached.
“What did he say?”
I looked at him.
“He said my father was taken.”
“By your mother?”
“Yes.”
Marcus went silent.
Then he said:
“That changes everything.”
We went back upstairs.
The hotel lobby was empty.
Only security remained.
The marble floor where I had been dragged the day before was spotless.
No blood.
No broken glass.
No sign that anything had happened.
But I remembered.
The socialite.
The humiliation.
The guests watching.
The security guard who had recognized me.
And suddenly I realized something.
“The lobby cameras.”
Marcus looked at me.
“What about them?”
“They recorded everything.”
“The assault?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the socialite wasn't acting alone.”
Marcus frowned.
“How do you know?”
I looked toward the security office.
“Because she knew exactly where the cameras were.”
We entered the security room.
A young guard stood behind the monitors.
When he saw me, he stood immediately.
“Ms. Vale.”
“Show me the lobby footage from yesterday.”
He hesitated.
“Which time?”
“The entire incident.”
He pulled up the recording.
There I was.
Walking into Solmere wearing jeans and a tank top.
The socialite approached.
They argued.
She grabbed my arm.
Then she dragged me across the floor.
The footage showed everything.
The crowd.
The humiliation.
The moment the security guard stepped forward.
Then I noticed something.
A man standing behind a pillar.
He wasn't watching the socialite.
He was watching me.
I leaned closer.
“Zoom in.”
The guard did.
The man's face appeared.
I recognized him immediately.
“That's Nathaniel's security chief.”
Marcus nodded.
“Elias Grant.”
“Why was he there?”
“To watch you.”
“Then the attack was planned.”
“Yes.”
I watched the footage again.
The socialite dragged me toward the lobby doors.
Elias watched.
Then, seconds before I reached the exit, he touched his ear.
He was receiving instructions.
I pointed.
“Enhance the audio.”
The guard tried.
Static.
Then a voice.
Faint.
But audible.
“Proceed.”
The socialite dragged me again.
Then another voice came through.
“She hasn't found the papers.”
I froze.
Marcus looked at me.
“What papers?”
The recording continued.
The socialite said:
“What if she recognizes me?”
The male voice answered:
“She won't.”
Then the line went silent.
I stared at the screen.
“Play that again.”
The guard did.
The voice was clearer.
I knew it.
I had heard it before.
My father's old recordings.
The same calm tone.
The same pause between words.
I whispered:
“Richard.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Your father?”
I nodded.
“That was his voice.”
Nobody spoke.
I played it again.
And again.
There was no mistaking it.
My father's voice.
Alive.
Speaking from inside my hotel.
But the recording had been made yesterday.
Not nine years ago.
Yesterday.
I looked at Marcus.
“How?”
He didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
“I don't know.”
“Someone used his voice.”
“No.”
“You said he was alive.”
“I believe he is.”
“Then why is he communicating with the people attacking me?”
Marcus looked troubled.
“Maybe he isn't.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Maybe someone is using his voice.”
“To frighten me?”
“To control you.”
I looked at the footage.
The voice said:
She hasn't found the papers.
What papers?
The charter?
The second account?
Or something else?
Then I remembered my mother's desk.
The drawer I hadn't opened.
The one she had specifically warned me never to touch.
I turned toward the elevator.
“Where are you going?”
“To my mother's office.”
The drawer was locked.
I broke it open.
Inside was a small black drive.
No label.
No markings.
I connected it to the computer.
One folder appeared.
FOR CHARLOTTE
I opened it.
There was only one video.
Recorded nine years ago.
My mother's face appeared on screen.
She looked tired.
Older.
Terrified.
“Charlotte,” she said.
My chest tightened.
“If you're watching this, then I'm dead.”
I swallowed.
She continued.
“I know you will have questions.”
She paused.
“The first is about your father.”
I leaned closer.
“He did not die in the accident.”
My breath stopped.
“He survived.”
I closed my eyes.
The truth was finally becoming real.
“He was taken from the hospital.”
“By whom?” I whispered.
My mother continued.
“By people who believed he knew where the original Solmere trust was hidden.”
I stared.
“The trust?”
She nodded.
“The original ownership documents were never destroyed.”
She leaned closer to the camera.
“Your father knew where they were.”
My heart pounded.
“And so did I.”
She looked away.
“That's why they came after us.”
I whispered:
“Who?”
My mother looked directly into the camera.
“Nathaniel Cross.”
The room seemed to freeze.
“He believed the documents could give him control of Solmere.”
She paused.
“But he was wrong.”
“Because the documents name you.”
I stared.
“No.”
My mother shook her head.
“They name someone else.”
The video paused for a second.
Then she said:
“Charlotte, if you are watching this, you must find Victor Hale.”
I froze.
“Victor is the only person who can prove what happened to your father.”
She took a breath.
“But there is something you must know before you find him.”
The screen flickered.
My mother's voice became quieter.
“Do not trust the man who claims to be protecting you.”
The video ended.
I sat frozen.
Marcus stood behind me.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said:
“She meant me.”
I turned.
“How do you know?”
“Because I was your father's security chief.”
I stared at him.
“My mother knew you.”
“Yes.”
“She didn't trust you.”
“No.”
“Then why did she leave you instructions?”
“Because your father trusted me.”
I stood.
“What happened to him?”
Marcus looked at the black screen.
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then who does know?”
Marcus hesitated.
I already knew the answer.
“Victor.”
He nodded.
The next morning, the video was leaked.
Not to the police.
Not to the board.
To the entire hotel.
Someone had uploaded the lobby footage.
Within hours, it spread across social media.
The world saw the woman being dragged across Solmere's marble floor.
They saw the socialite.
They saw the security chief.
They saw the crowd doing nothing.
But they also saw something else.
The security camera had captured my face.
And my name appeared in the video's description.
CHARLOTTE VALE — THE REAL OWNER OF SOLMERE HOTEL.
The story exploded.
News vans arrived outside.
Reporters filled the lobby.
Employees gathered around televisions.
The board panicked.
Preston called an emergency meeting.
Nathaniel disappeared.
And Vivian...
was arrested.
She was found at a private airport trying to leave the country.
When police searched her luggage, they found the same type of keycard she had given the shooter.
And a copy of the contract they had tried to force me to sign.
But Vivian wasn't the person I wanted.
I wanted the shooter.
And I wanted my father.
That evening, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Charlotte.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Then:
“You found the video.”
“Yes.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they're listening.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
My heart pounded.
“Are you alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
A long pause.
“Because I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice.”
“I was protecting you.”
“Mom said the same thing.”
“She was right.”
“She lied to me.”
“She lied to keep you alive.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you kill her?”
Silence.
My blood ran cold.
“Dad?”
“I didn't kill your mother.”
“Then who did?”
Another pause.
Then his voice became urgent.
“Charlotte, listen carefully.”
“What?”
“The contract they gave you…”
“Yes?”
“Do not sign it.”
“I won't.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“They aren't trying to steal Solmere.”
“I know.”
“They're trying to make you the legal owner of something else.”
“The second account?”
“No.”
I waited.
My father's voice dropped to a whisper.
“They're trying to make you the legal owner of the entire criminal network.”
I couldn't breathe.
“What?”
“If you sign that contract, every crime Nathaniel committed will legally become your responsibility.”
I stared at the papers on my mother's desk.
“The money.”
“Yes.”
“The shell companies.”
“Yes.”
“The stolen government funds.”
“Yes.”
“And the murders?”
Silence.
My father's silence answered everything.
I whispered:
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Dad…”
“You have to leave Solmere.”
“No.”
“Charlotte.”
“No.”
I looked through the window at the hotel below.
“My whole life, people have been telling me to run.”
“Because they want you alive.”
“No.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“They want me afraid.”
“Charlotte—”
“I'm done being afraid.”
My father said nothing.
Then I heard another voice in the background.
A woman.
I froze.
“Dad?”
The woman spoke.
“Charlotte?”
I knew that voice too.
My mother.
I dropped the phone.
The call ended.
I stood motionless.
My mother was dead.
My father was alive.
And somehow...
both of them had just spoken to me.
Then my phone buzzed one final time.
A text appeared.
COME TO THE OLD SOLMERE PROPERTY AT MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
YOUR MOTHER WILL BE THERE.
I stared at the message.
For nine years, I had believed my mother was gone.
May you like
Now someone was promising to show me her alive.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the woman buried beneath that marble headstone had ever been my mother at all.
