Chapter 6 - The Manager's Secret Ledger
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While Marcus secured the bodyguard in the laundry corridor, my earpiece crackled with urgent communication from the lobby team.
“Director Pendleton, this is Agent Evans at the front desk,” the transmission stated.
“We intercepted Caldwell attempting to access the hotel’s primary surveillance server room through a private elevator in his office.”
“Did he destroy any drive arrays?” I asked, leaning against the garage entryway to catch my breath.
“Negative, sir. We breached the office door just as he was typing a purge command into the administrative terminal.”
“Hold him right there. I am coming up for five minutes before we sweep the garage,” I commanded.
Leaving two tactical operators to hold the garage ramp, I took the service elevator straight back to the ground level.
The lobby had settled into a tense, surreal calm under the watchful eyes of heavily armed federal agents.
Curious hotel guests were gathered behind velvet ropes, recording every movement on their smartphones.
I walked directly past them, my trench coat billowing slightly, and entered the opulent executive office behind the front desk.
Richard Caldwell was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair, handcuffed with plastic zip-ties behind his back.
His expensive Italian suit was rumpled, his silk necktie crooked, and his face drenched in cold, greasy sweat.
On the mahogany desk sat an open laptop displaying an active terminal prompt with an incomplete script titled System_Wipe_Final.bat.
Beside the computer was an open wall safe behind an oil painting, revealing stacks of hundred-dollar bills banded in gold foil.
“Quite a lucrative retirement package for a hotel manager, Mr. Caldwell,” I remarked, pulling a wooden chair up opposite him.
Caldwell swallowed hard, refusing to look me in the eye.
“I have the right to an attorney,” he whispered, his voice trembling like a dry leaf.
“You certainly do,” I agreed, leaning forward until our faces were mere inches apart.
“And your attorney will inform you that tampering with evidence during an active federal felony investigation carries a mandatory enhancement.”
“I didn't know who Viktor Vance really was,” Caldwell lied desperately.
“He was just a high-net-worth foreign investor who requested total privacy for his corporate business transactions.”
I picked up a black leather notebook sitting on the desk shelf, flipping through the handwritten notations inside.
Every page contained room numbers, arrival dates, and monetary amounts corresponding to wire transfers through shell companies in Cyprus.
“You kept your own private ledger,” I noted, a slight smile touching the corners of my mouth.
“Criminals who don't trust their partners always keep insurance policies.”
Caldwell’s breath hitched in his throat as he realized what I was holding.
“If Viktor finds out I kept those records, he will have me killed before I ever reach a courthouse,” Caldwell stammered.
“Viktor is trapped in your basement garage right now with twenty federal agents closing in on him,” I told him coldly.
“Your only concern right now should be whether you spend the next thirty years at ADX Florence or a medium-security facility.”
Caldwell slumped forward, burying his face in his hands as quiet sobs began to wrack his slender frame.
“The officer... Derek Channing... did he know?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Caldwell looked up through red, tearful eyes and shook his head vigorously.
“No! Derek is an idiot... he’s just my nephew’s fraternity brother!” Caldwell confessed.
“I called him on his personal cell and told him an unwashed vagrant was stalking a VIP guest in the lobby.”
“I told him making a flashy public arrest would impress the hotel owners and help his chances of getting promoted to detective.”
I closed the black ledger with a loud thud that made Caldwell flinch.
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“You used an arrogant young cop to protect an international syndicate,” I said, standing up.
“And in doing so, you ensured that both of your careers ended on the very same evening.”
