Chapter 8 - THE NAME ON THE RESERVATION
Room 1907 was locked.
I stood outside with six security officers.
"Who checked in?"
Our front-desk manager looked at the computer.
"A man named Samuel Martin."
"Show me his identification."
She hesitated.
"There's a copy."
She opened the file.
My blood ran cold.
It wasn't my identification.
But it had my name.
And my old home address.
An address I hadn't used in fifteen years.
"Who authorized the reservation?"
She looked at me.
"You did."
"No."
"The system says you personally approved it."
I knew then that whoever was behind this had access to everything.
My signatures.
My identity.
My corporate accounts.
My hotel systems.
Maybe even my private history.
I opened the door.
Empty.
Except for a child's blanket.
Anna walked in behind me.
"Samuel?"
No answer.
Then she noticed something on the bed.
A photograph.
Her children.
Taken three years ago.
But there was another photograph beneath it.
Me.
At eight years old.
Standing beside my mother.
I stopped breathing.
Nobody outside my family had that photograph.
"Where did they get this?"
Anna looked at me.
"You know them."
"No."
I stared at the photograph.
Then I recognized the background.
It was the old hotel where my mother had worked.
The hotel I had inherited nothing from.
The hotel where I had slept in a supply closet after she died.
Someone had been watching my life too.
My phone rang.
An unknown number.
I answered.
"Where is my son?"
A man's voice.
Not Charles.
Not David.
Someone younger.
Daniel.
"Who has Samuel?"
"You know who."
"Tell me."
"Your father."
I froze.
"My father is dead."
A pause.
"No."
My heart began pounding.
"That's impossible."
"You were told he died."
"Who told me?"
"Your mother."
I couldn't speak.
My mother had always said my father abandoned us.
She had never said he was dead.
"Where is he?"
"Somewhere you've never looked."
The call ended.
Anna stared at me.
"Mr. Martin..."
I couldn't move.
For twenty years, I'd believed my father walked away.
Now someone was telling me he hadn't.
A knock came at the door.
A police officer entered.
"We found the boy."
Anna screamed.
"Where?"
The officer pointed down the hall.
"Parking garage."
We ran.
Samuel was sitting inside a parked car.
Alive.
Unharmed.
Clutching his elephant.
Anna dropped to her knees.
"Samuel!"
He ran into her arms.
I closed my eyes.
Relief nearly knocked me over.
Then Samuel looked at me.
He pointed toward the garage entrance.
"Daddy said you would come."
Anna froze.
I looked around.
"Who?"
Samuel pointed.
A black sedan was disappearing through the exit.
Security chased it.
But it was gone.
Then Samuel said something that made all of us freeze.
"He said your mommy knew him."
My mother.
Dead for twenty years.
I crouched beside him.
"What did he look like?"
Samuel frowned.
"Old."
"Did he have gray hair?"
He nodded.
"Was he wearing glasses?"
Another nod.
My stomach dropped.
My father wore glasses.
Always.
"Did he tell you his name?"
Samuel nodded.
"Grandpa."
Anna looked at me.
"Your father?"
I stood slowly.
For twenty years, I'd believed I had built my life alone.
Maybe that was the first lie.
I called the only private investigator I trusted.
"Find my father."
"Sir?"
"Don't ask questions."
Then I looked at Anna.
"And find out what happened twenty years ago."
May you like
Because whatever was happening now wasn't beginning with her.
It was beginning with me.
