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PART 1
“Sir, with that sleeping child and those damaged flowers, you may want to try a cheaper motel down the road.”
Ethan Vance froze in front of the marble desk of the Grand Regent Hotel in downtown Chicago. His six-year-old daughter, Lily, was asleep on his shoulder, and a bouquet of red roses hung from his hand.
He stayed quiet, not because the insult did not hurt, but because Lily was exhausted after a delayed flight from Denver. A parent learns to swallow pride when a tired child is finally sleeping.
“I have a reservation,” Ethan said softly. “Under Ethan Vance.”
The receptionist, Patricia, looked him over: worn leather jacket, stubble, scuffed backpack, tired eyes. Beside her, another employee named Karla crossed her arms.
Patricia typed. “Nothing here.”
“It was booked through the corporate office,” Ethan said. “Could you check the executive block?”
Karla laughed under her breath. “People think if they argue long enough, a luxury suite will magically appear.”
Patricia added, “We’re fully booked. Try one of the budget inns near the highway.”
Ethan kept his voice calm. “My daughter needs a bed. Please check again.”
Neither woman knew the truth.
The Grand Regent belonged to Ethan.