He taps an app on his phone, and the bar area glows fully to life.The glass globes recessed in the ceiling are just as I remembered.
“What about security?”I ask.“No live monitoring today?”
“They’re off as well,” he says.“Follow me.”
We pass through the same door Eddie used Friday night.I glance at the ceiling—smoked glass, perfect cover for cameras.
“Is surveillance shut off when the business is closed?”
“No,” Adrien says.“Video runs continuously.After twenty-four hours, footage records over itself.If there’s an incident, we pull it before that window closes.”
“And no remote access?”Quinn asks.“That app you’re using—it’s not connected?”
He shakes his head.“We considered integrating the feed but decided against it.Phones can be stolen.Too much risk.”
Quinn exchanges a glance with me; she approves of the caution.
“We reviewed your personnel records,” I say.“Five employees own properties worth over five million.Is that unexpected?”
“Probably not.”He slows as we approach an elevator.“We pay well.Eddie Thorne, our managing director, earns seven-fifty plus under-the-table tips.Macon Chen, head of security—around seven hundred.The chef’s at a million.I stole him from another venue, promised him a partnership once he gets ours running cleanly.Who were the other two?”
“Luz Delgado—VIP liaison.And Christophe Duret, your acquisitions coordinator.Both have verifiable income streams that match their assets.”
The elevator doors close, and without a button pressed, we rise.Controlled remotely—linked to his app.Typical of Adrien: convenience disguised as luxury.
The space feels smaller than it should, his height crowding the air.Glass globes overhead form a geometric pattern—too deliberate for design alone.I calculate automatically: three blind spots.One near the panel, one behind the mirrored wall, one where Adrien stands closest to me.His shoulder brushes mine; I shift a fraction.
The elevator stops after two floors.Adrien steps into a quiet hallway lined with labeled doors.
“This level’s staff-only—changing rooms, storage, everything an employee might need.And here’s the control room.”
A green light halos the door frame as he scans in.“Only fifteen people have visual ID access.The system logs entries, but it won’t raise alarms.I come in on closed days often enough that no one will question it.”
He holds the door for us, and I take care to avoid brushing against him as I step through into the room.
Video screens cover two walls.Adrien moves confidently to the control console, his touch steady and sure.Despite myself, I track his hands—strong, practiced, ringless.The same that once traced the curve of my spine.The screens blink to life, revealing corridors, reception areas, and the main bar.
“No video inside the suites?”I ask.
“No.Only hallways—to verify consent.The suites are private.We have open event spaces with surveillance, and bouncers circulate.Safety first.”
His tone is professional, but the tension in his jaw betrays him.He knows how vulnerable his members are.
“If I trusted Chen, he’d be giving you this tour,” he adds.
“You don’t think you can?”Noah asks.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”Adrien’s reply is sharper now.“I can’t trust anyone.Chen controls surveillance, schedules—everything.If the blackmail originated here, he’s in the perfect position to manipulate footage.”
“And the surveillance is viewed here?”Quinn asks, lowering her bag onto a chair.
“Yes.Privacy is a close second to safety.That’s why I need you to find the source of the breach.”
“Alright,” she says.“Can I dig in?Will anyone be alerted?”
“No.”
“Good.”She’s already crouched, scanning the console.“We’ll need to install our own surveillance in here—discreetly.If anyone notices, we’re done.First, I’ll map your storage protocols.”
