Chapter 4 - The Secrets in Room 1216The mood at the table plummeted from playful teasing to heavy, suffocating tension. Amanda looked horrified, her hand resting over Rachel’s. “Rach, you never told me he was staying at this hotel.”
“Because I didn’t know,” Rachel said, biting her lower lip. “I thought I left all of that behind in New York. I came to Chicago for a clean break, a quiet weekend with my best friend. I didn't expect Marcus Vance to be lurking in the lobby like a corporate vulture.”
I stared across the table, my mind racing. I knew Rachel was an elite financial analyst, but she rarely talked about the corporate wars she fought behind closed doors. Seeing her rattled like this—vulnerable behind her walls—did something strange to my chest.
“Where is he staying again?” I asked casually, though my tone was entirely flat.
Rachel looked up, alarm flashing in her eyes. “Tyler. Don't even think about it. You’re a professional athlete. If you get into a physical altercation with a high-powered executive in a luxury hotel, it will be all over TMZ by midnight. ‘Star NFL Player Beats Up Wall Street Tycoon in Hotel Lobby.’ Do you want that?”
“I’m just asking,” I replied defensively, raising an eyebrow. “Curiosity. Does he have security?”
“He always has security,” Amanda chimed in, tossing back the rest of her martini. “Marcus is paranoid. But more importantly, Rach, why is he still chasing you if you left the firm?”
Rachel stared into the amber liquid of her drink, swirling it slowly. “Because of the audit. When I resigned, I didn't just walk away. I copied a secure drive containing proof of his embezzlement and tax fraud. I handed it to the federal investigators.”
The table went dead silent. Even the ambient lounge music seemed to fade into the background.
“You what?” I breathed, my eyes widening.
“The investigation is ongoing,” Rachel muttered, looking around nervously to ensure no one was listening. “If those files go public, Marcus goes away for a very long time. And right now... he thinks I have a physical backup of that drive with me.”
“And do you?” Amanda whispered, leaning in close.
May you like
Rachel didn't answer immediately. She reached into her small designer handbag resting on the banquette, pulled out a sleek, black encrypted USB drive, and placed it face down on the table between us.
“It’s right here,” Rachel said. “And I think... I think he just figured out which hotel I’m staying in.”
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