“Get them out of here!”The words came from somewhere deep, some survival instinct I didn’t know I had.“Everyone out of the lobby.Now!”
Staff snapped to attention.Jessica, pale but moving, started ushering guests toward the restaurant, her voice shaking as she apologized and redirected.The bellhop threw his uniform jacket over Winston’s body with hands that trembled.Someone was already on the phone with 911, their voice high and panicked.
I stood in the middle of the chaos, shaking so hard my teeth chattered, and made myself think.
Someone had done this.Someone had killed Maya’s dog, packaged it like a gift, left it for me to find.Someone wanted me to scream in public, to fall apart where everyone could see.They’d timed it perfectly, waited until the lobby was busy, until there would be witnesses.
They’d gotten what they wanted.
But they weren’t going to get anything else.
I pulled my phone from my pocket with trembling fingers and called our PR consultant.
The next few hours blurred together in a haze of police tape and camera flashes and questions I couldn’t answer.
Detective Becker was a tired-looking woman in her fifties with gray streaking her dark hair and the weary efficiency of someone who’d seen far worse than a dead dog in a hotel lobby.She took my statement in the back office, her pen scratching across her notepad while I recited the facts in a voice that didn’t sound like mine.
The package had been left at the service entrance sometime between midnight and six AM.No witnesses.No security footage that showed anything useful, just a dark shape moving in and out of frame, face obscured by a baseball cap and the angle of the camera.
“Whoever did this knew the building,” Detective Becker said.“Knew where the cameras were.Knew how to avoid them.”
The words settled in my stomach like ice.
“Any enemies, Ms.Hughes?Anyone who might want to frighten you?”
I thought of Raphael.Of the contract I’d signed this morning.Of the twenty million dollars he’d agreed to pay on my behalf.Of the way he’d looked at me across his desk, like a predator studying prey.
“I don’t know,” I said.
It wasn’t technically a lie.
Michael appeared at my side as I finished with the detective, his face a mask of concern.He’d arrived at the front desk within twenty minutes of the incident, and he’d been hovering ever since, a steady presence at the edge of every conversation.
“Lena.”His hand touched my elbow, gentle and warm.“Let me handle the press.You shouldn’t have to deal with this right now.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You’re in shock.Anyone would be.”His voice was patient, reasonable, the voice you’d use with a frightened child.“Just let me?—”
“I’ve got it.”The words came out sharper than I intended.I saw something flicker across his face, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.Then his expression smoothed back into supportive concern.
“I’m just trying to help,” he said quietly.“You don’t have to do this alone.”
I knew he meant well.He’d been nothing but kind since my father’s stroke, stepping up to handle the day-to-day operations, staying late to walk me through financial reports, bringing me coffee when I forgot to eat.He was the only person at this hotel who treated me like I might actually be capable of running things, instead of just the boss’s sheltered daughter playing pretend.
But right now, I needed to do this myself.Needed to prove, to myself if no one else, that I wasn’t the helpless little girl everyone thought I was.
“I know,” I said.“And I appreciate it, Michael.Really.But I need to handle this.”
The PR consultant was already coaching me through my statement when Sophie appeared.She didn’t say anything, didn’t offer advice or try to take over.Just pressed a cup of coffee into my hands and squeezed my fingers once, hard, her eyes full of wordless sympathy.
I stumbled through the talking points about isolated incidents and ongoing investigations and our commitment to guest safety.The words felt hollow in my mouth, meaningless sounds designed to reassure people who would never truly feel safe here again.
The cancellations started rolling in before I’d even finished.High-end clients didn’t want drama.They wanted discretion, luxury, an escape from the ugliness of the world.A dead dog in the lobby was the opposite of that.
By the time I’d talked to the last reporter, we’d lost twelve reservations for the coming week.Premium suites, most of them.The math ran through my head without permission, calculating the loss.Thirty thousand dollars.Maybe more.I’d have to sell more from the penthouse to cover the gap.The Tiffany lamp, maybe.Or the Waterford crystal my mother had collected before I was born.
It was nearly six o’clock before I finally made it up to the penthouse.
