Chapter 4 - The Ritual of the Rooster
Alone in the vast, quiet suite, Marcus finally took off his worn jacket, hanging it over the back of a velvet chair. He walked to the wet bar, found a simple glass pitcher shaped like a rooster—a piece he had secretly instructed the staff to bring from his Santa Fe home months ago—and filled it with water.
He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully cutting the stems of the bruised airport roses with a pocket knife. One by one, he placed them into the pitcher, setting it on the nightstand beside Sophie’s sleeping form.
The petals were damaged, but as the water reached the stems, the scent of fresh roses began to fill the room, pushing away the stale smell of corporate cigars.
"We made it, Elena," Marcus whispered to the dark room, his hand reaching out to touch one of the red petals. "She slept through the whole thing."
A soft knock on the outer suite door broke his reverie. It was Eleanor. She held a digital tablet containing the real-time financial audits of the Aldridge Grand’s secondary accounts.
"Marcus," Eleanor said, her voice tight. "It’s worse than we thought. Julian Sterling hasn't just been selling the executive suites for cash. He’s been skimming from the renovation funds you approved four years ago. The cheap fabric, the faulty software tabs... he pocketed the difference to fund a gambling debt in Atlantic City."
Marcus stared at the ledger on the screen. "He thought I was too busy grieving to notice the margins slipping."
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"He did," Eleanor nodded. "He’s scheduled to give a toast at the gala in thirty minutes. What do you want to do?"
"I want to audit him," Marcus said. "In front of his investors."
