Chapter 6 - THE GHOST ACCOUNT
The account contained $41.8 million.
It should not have existed.
Elizabeth Bennett died when Charlotte was twenty-two.
Yet payments continued under her name.
Small at first.
Then larger.
All connected to Monarch property subsidiaries.
Maya traced the money.
It came from leasing fees nobody on the current board recognized.
Retail spaces.
Private residences.
Storage contracts beneath the hotel.
And one peculiar item:
SUBTERRANEAN ARCHIVE LICENSING.
Charlotte stared.
“What subterranean archive?”
Ethan, standing nearby, cleared his throat.
“There are old rooms beneath the hotel.”
“How many?”
“No one knows exactly.”
She looked at him.
“It’s my hotel.”
“Yes.”
“And no one knows?”
“The Monarch was built in sections between 1928 and 1956.”
Old Manhattan buildings were like that.
Walls behind walls.
Rooms erased from blueprints.
Service corridors nobody used anymore.
“Show me.”
They descended through the kitchen.
Then laundry.
Then a locked service level beneath the basement.
Ethan used three keys.
A steel door opened.
Old mosaic flooring emerged beneath dust.
Charlotte recognized the Monarch crest.
Before entering, Ethan said something unexpected.
“Your mother used to come down here.”
Charlotte stopped.
“You knew my mother?”
“I was a bellman.”
She stared.
Ethan smiled faintly.
“Twenty years ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It didn’t seem relevant.”
“It’s relevant now.”
They walked through the dark corridor.
At the end stood an old vault door.
The lock bore no modern keypad.
Only a Bennett crest.
Charlotte touched it.
Ethan handed her an antique key.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Three days before he died.”
Her heart accelerated.
“What did he say?”
Ethan’s voice became quiet.
“He said someday you might come asking why your mother never really left the Monarch.”
The key turned.
Inside were hundreds of archive boxes.
Corporate documents.
Property deeds.
Hotel records.
Photographs.
At the center sat one wooden desk.
On it rested a photograph of Elizabeth Bennett.
And Sabrina Monroe’s mother.
Victoria Monroe.
Charlotte stared.
They were standing together.
Smiling.
Dated twenty-three years earlier.
Maya whispered.
“They knew each other.”
Charlotte picked up the photo.
On the back, her mother had written:
VICTORIA KNOWS WHAT ADRIAN DID.
The door slammed behind them.
Lights went out.
Then Ethan’s voice cut through the darkness.
“Charlotte…”
May you like
“What?”
“Someone just locked us in.”
