Chapter 1 - THE MAN WHO COUNTED MINUTES
“How do you know that?”
Tessa stared at Damon Vale as if he had just announced that he could read minds.
Damon glanced toward the mezzanine.
“The bartender keeps looking at the clock.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It does if you know what you’re looking for.”
Tessa narrowed her eyes.
“You’re watching the staff?”
“I’m watching the room.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my hotel.”
She froze.
For half a second, she wondered if she had misheard him.
“Your hotel?”
Damon nodded.
“The Alder Crown.”
Tessa looked around.
She had known Damon Vale was wealthy. Everyone in Chicago knew that. His name appeared on buildings, investment reports, charity galas, political fundraisers, and business magazines.
But she had assumed the hotel belonged to one of his investment groups.
Not directly to him.
“You own this place?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should know the champagne station is unmanned because I sent the bartender downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because someone switched the reserve champagne with the house sparkling wine.”
Damon’s expression changed.
“How do you know?”
“Because I ordered the original inventory.”
His eyes sharpened.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And nobody told you?”
“I was supposed to be informed.”
Tessa looked toward the mezzanine.
“Someone deliberately changed the stock.”
Damon studied her.
“That's what I'm thinking.”
She lowered her voice.
“Why would anyone do that?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
A waiter hurried toward them.
“Mr. Vale.”
Damon turned.
“Sir, there’s a problem in the east corridor.”
“What kind?”
“The security system recorded someone entering the restricted service area.”
“When?”
“Approximately ten minutes ago.”
Damon looked at Tessa.
She immediately understood.
The unmanned champagne station.
The changed inventory.
The restricted corridor.
They might be connected.
“Who entered?” Damon asked.
The waiter swallowed.
“We don’t know.”
“Cameras?”
“Camera twelve went offline.”
Damon’s jaw tightened.
Tessa felt a strange chill.
“Camera twelve covers the east corridor,” she said.
The waiter nodded.
Damon looked at her.
“You knew that?”
“I designed the security blind spots into the renovation plan.”
“Why?”
“So there wouldn’t be any.”
A beat of silence.
Then Damon said, “Come with me.”
Tessa blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“I need someone who knows this building better than my security team.”
“I’m not security.”
“I know.”
“I’m an architect.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why am I coming?”
“Because someone is using your building.”
She hated how reasonable that sounded.
They walked toward the corridor.
The ballroom seemed to split around Damon.
People whispered.
Some watched Tessa with curiosity.
Others with envy.
Whitney Chase stood frozen near the bar, apparently forgotten by everyone.
Tessa glanced at her once.
Whitney was staring at Damon.
Not with anger.
With fear.
That bothered Tessa.
At the end of the corridor, Damon stopped.
A security guard stood beside an open service door.
“No one has touched it,” he said.
Damon crouched.
Tessa looked at the lock.
“There.”
“What?”
“The scratch.”
Damon leaned closer.
Someone had inserted something into the lock.
Tessa ran her finger along the metal without touching it.
“Not forced entry.”
Damon looked at her.
“How can you tell?”
“Because whoever did this had a key.”
She stood.
“And they wanted it to look like they didn't.”
Damon's eyes met hers.
For the first time that evening, something resembling respect appeared in his expression.
“Exactly.”
A sudden crash came from inside the corridor.
Both of them turned.
Damon pushed the door open.
A man in a black catering uniform ran toward the opposite stairwell.
“Stop!”
The guard chased him.
Damon followed.
Tessa stayed behind for exactly two seconds.
Then she ran too.
The man reached the stairwell.
He looked back.
His face was unfamiliar.
But Tessa recognized the jacket.
“Wait!”
The man disappeared down the stairs.
Damon reached the railing and looked over.
Nothing.
He turned toward Tessa.
“You know him?”
“No.”
“But you recognized something.”
“The jacket.”
“What about it?”
“That isn't our catering uniform.”
Damon stared at her.
“How sure are you?”
“I designed the staff wardrobe.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You designed everything.”
“Almost.”
They returned to the corridor.
Inside the service room, the security guard found a small black case.
Damon opened it.
Inside was a USB drive.
Tessa's stomach tightened.
“That's not good.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever left it wanted you to find it.”
Damon looked at her.
“Why me?”
She pointed toward the case.
“Because your name is engraved on it.”
There was silence.
On the silver surface, three letters had been carved.
D.V.
Damon's face became unreadable.
He picked up the drive.
“Everyone back to the ballroom.”
The guard hesitated.
“Sir?”
“Lock this corridor.”
“What about the guests?”
“Keep them calm.”
Damon turned to Tessa.
“You too.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“Because whoever did this knows my name.”
He paused.
“And now they know yours.”
For the first time that night, Tessa felt afraid.
Not because of Whitney.
Not because of the laughter.
Not because four hundred wealthy strangers had watched her humiliation.
Because someone had deliberately placed a message inside the hotel.
And somehow, she was part of it.
Damon stepped closer.
“Stay beside me.”
Tessa looked at him.
“That sounds dangerously like an order.”
“It is.”
She almost smiled.
“I'm not very good with orders.”
“I noticed.”
Then the lights went out.
The entire ballroom disappeared into darkness.
Someone screamed.
A glass shattered.
And from somewhere in the blackness came a woman's voice.
“Damon.”
He went completely still.
Tessa heard him whisper one word.
“Impossible.”
The emergency lights flickered on.
Damon was staring toward the ballroom entrance.
Tessa followed his gaze.
A woman stood there.
Elegant.
Pale.
Deadly calm.
And Damon knew her.
He looked like he had just seen a ghost.
The woman smiled.
“Hello, Damon.”
Then she looked directly at Tessa.
“And you must be the woman he finally chose.”
Tessa's blood ran cold.
Damon stepped in front of her.
“Leave.”
The woman's smile widened.
“I just arrived.”
May you like
Then she said the name that made Damon lose every trace of composure.
“Clara.”
