Chapter 8 - The Child Nobody Was Looking At)
While executives searched meeting rooms and security reviewed cameras, Nia hid in plain sight.
At 11:15 a.m., she followed a family into the hotel breakfast restaurant.
Nobody noticed the dirty child because the parents were arguing and their three children were shouting.
Nia took a roll from an abandoned bread basket.
At noon she washed her face in a lobby restroom.
Most of the dirt came off.
Her jacket remained dusty from the tunnel.
At 12:30 she tried reaching the executive elevators.
A security guard blocked her.
“Where are your parents?”
Nia ran before he could touch her.
At 1:00 she found a television in the lobby displaying a hotel promotional video.
Arthur Whitmore appeared on screen.
Tonight, the caption said, the Aurelia Grand would host the annual Whitmore Foundation Founder’s Banquet.
Nia stared.
Tonight.
Arthur would be downstairs tonight.
She no longer needed to reach his suite.
She needed to reach the ballroom.
The problem was security.
Employees were already preparing rope barriers and checking guest lists.
Nia returned to the service level.
She knew one person who might help.
Tomas Vega worked receiving.
He was fifty-nine, spoke loudly, laughed louder, and always gave Nia fruit when Simone brought her to the hotel.
She found him near the loading dock.
Tomas saw her and nearly dropped a box.
“Nia?”
She ran to him.
He crouched.
“Where is your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
Tomas looked around.
“Security says she was arrested.”
“She wasn’t.”
“What?”
“They took her downstairs.”
“Nia, who?”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Rourke.”
Tomas’s face hardened.
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“You need police.”
“Mom needs Mr. Whitmore.”
Tomas stared at her.
“Why?”
Nia pulled James’s envelope from the jacket.
Tomas recognized the name.
His eyes widened.
“Where did you get that?”
“Room 314.”
Tomas sat down.
“You went into 314?”
“You know it?”
“I worked here when James was a boy. He used to hide down there from his father.”
Nia handed him the letter.
Tomas read it slowly.
By the end, his face had changed.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
He looked at Nia.
“This belongs to Arthur.”
“I know.”
Tomas folded the letter.
“We take it to him now.”
They walked toward the staff elevators.
Before reaching them, Tomas stopped.
Two security officers stood nearby.
Not Daniel.
Men Tomas knew reported directly to Malcolm.
He pulled Nia behind a stack of produce boxes.
“Not that way.”
They returned toward receiving.
Tomas used his employee phone to call Arthur’s executive office.
No answer.
He tried the hotel operator.
“I need Mr. Whitmore.”
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Tomas Vega from receiving.”
“One moment.”
After two minutes the operator returned.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitmore is unavailable.”
“It’s urgent.”
“I can take a message.”
Tomas looked at Nia.
“Tell him James left something in Room 314.”
Silence.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
“One moment.”
The line disconnected.
Tomas frowned.
“Did she hang up?”
Nia asked.
“I think so.”
What Tomas did not know was that the operator had transferred the message.
Not to Arthur.
To Malcolm.
Three minutes later, Malcolm received an internal alert.
Tomas Vega.
James.
Room 314.
Malcolm immediately called security.
“Find Vega.”
Nia and Tomas moved through storage rooms toward an older freight elevator.
Tomas pressed the button.
Nothing.
“Broken again.”
He opened a stairwell door.
They climbed.
On the ballroom level, staff rushed everywhere.
Florists adjusted centerpieces.
Servers polished glasses.
Musicians tested sound equipment.
Nia had never seen anything so beautiful.
Or so dangerous.
Tomas pointed toward a linen room.
“Stay there.”
“No.”
“Nia.”
“I’m not hiding again.”
“I need to find Arthur.”
“So do I.”
Tomas knelt.
“You are seven.”
“And everybody keeps saying that while doing nothing.”
He had no answer.
A voice sounded behind them.
“Tomas.”
They turned.
Malcolm stood at the far end of the corridor with two security officers.
Tomas pushed Nia toward the linen room.
“Run.”
She did.
One officer chased.
Nia slipped through the linen room and climbed onto a cart.
She buried herself beneath tablecloths.
A banquet worker entered moments later.
He grabbed the cart and pushed it away.
Nia remained silent.
The cart rolled directly into the Grand Aurelia Ballroom.
When the worker stopped, Nia peeked out.
Three hundred place settings gleamed beneath chandeliers.
At the center head table sat a name card.
ARTHUR WHITMORE.
Nia looked toward the kitchen entrance.
Then toward the stage.
May you like
She had made it.
All she had to do was survive until dinner.
