The Marlowe Grand did not look anything like the rest of the city.
Down in the lower wards where Wes lived, most buildings had peeling paint, rusty fire escapes, and broken streetlights that flickered through the night.
Up here, everything was different.
The Marlowe Grand rose high above the street, its dark glass walls reflecting the city lights.
Warm golden lights shone from behind the windows, making the whole building look like something from another world.
Wes stepped out of the yellow taxi.
His worn leather shoes touched the spotless granite pavement.
TAP-TAP.
A doorman in a dark double-breasted coat immediately walked toward him.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Grand.”
Wes almost looked behind him to see if the man was talking to someone else.
Nobody asked who he was.
Nobody looked at his old shoes.
Nobody questioned why a twenty-one-year-old kid was walking into one of the most expensive hotels in the city at ten forty-five on a Tuesday night.
Wes simply nodded.
He remembered something his drama teacher had told him years ago.
If you’re going to play someone important, don’t try to look important.
Believe that you already are.
So Wes lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders.
“Thank you.”
He walked through the revolving glass doors.
The first thing that hit him was the smell.
Everything smelled clean and expensive.
Polished wood.
Fresh lilies.
Something cool and almost sweet from the bottles of mineral water sitting at the reception desk.
Above him, huge crystal chandeliers filled the lobby with warm light.
People in expensive clothes moved quietly.
They spoke in low voices, laughed softly, and carried themselves like they had nowhere else they needed to be.
Wes tried not to stare.
He had never been anywhere like this.
Following Reggie’s instructions, he walked toward the VIP elevators on the north side of the lobby.
A tall attendant in a gray vest stood beside the elevator.
When Wes approached, the man gave him a small, polite bow.
He pulled a heavy brass key from his pocket, tapped it against a sensor, and stepped aside.
“Floor seven has been cleared for you, sir. Enjoy your evening.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Wes kept his voice calm.
Inside, the elevator doors closed.
DING.
The elevator began to rise.
The ride was so smooth that Wes barely noticed the movement.
Only the pressure in his ears told him that he was going up.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
His Alden Playhouse suit didn’t look terrible.
At least, it hadn’t looked terrible before he walked into the hotel.
Now it looked like exactly what it was—a cheap suit from a small theater company.
Compared with the perfectly fitted clothes he had seen downstairs, his jacket suddenly felt stiff and uncomfortable.
Wes sighed.
“Relax.”
He took a slow breath.
His heartbeat slowed.
A few seconds later, the elevator chimed.
DING.
The doors opened.
A quiet hallway stretched out in front of him.
Soft golden lights lined the walls, and thick carpet covered the floor.
Suite 714 was at the very end.
Wes walked toward it, his footsteps almost completely silent against the thick carpet.
He pulled the small magnetic fob Reggie had given him from his pocket and held it against the scanner.
BEEP.
The lock clicked.
A heavy THUNK followed.
Wes pushed the door open.
Then stopped.
The suite was enormous.
It was probably four times the size of the entire lower floor where Walt and Colleen lived.
Floor-to-ceiling windows covered one side of the room, giving him a clear view of the city below.
Rain had fallen earlier, leaving the streets shining under the lights.
A large leather sofa surrounded a glass coffee table.
Near the wall stood a marble bar filled with crystal glasses, expensive whiskey, and bottles of champagne.
Wes slowly walked toward the center table.
Several things had been arranged there for him.
A brand-new three-piece suit hung from a valet stand.
The suit was midnight blue.
Even from where he stood, Wes could tell the material was far better than anything he had ever owned.
Beside it was a heavy silver watch with a blue face.
There was also a dark charge card with a four-digit PIN written on it.
And then there was a black smartphone.
No logo.
No brand name.
Nothing.
Wes picked it up.
The screen immediately came alive.
He frowned.
He hadn’t even pressed the power button.
Words appeared on the screen.
[ LEDGER TERMINAL: ASSET INITIALIZATION ]
[ STATUS: STAND-IN OPERATIVE REGISTERED ]
[ DESIGNATION: PROVISIONAL ASSET #714 ]
[ ACTIVE WINDOW: 00:28:14 ]
[ CHANNEL: EXCLUSIVE / ENCRYPTED ]
Wes stared at the screen.
“What the hell?”
Before he could touch anything, the phone vibrated.
BUZZ.
BUZZ.
An incoming call appeared.
There was no phone number.
Only a strange symbol that looked like an open book with a silver seal.
Wes hesitated.
Then he answered.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Asset 714.”
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
There was no emotion in it at all.
It sounded like someone reading instructions from a sheet of paper.
“Confirming visual receipt of the wardrobe and terminal.”
Wes looked at the suit, then at the phone.
“Yeah. I see them.”
He paused.
“Who is this?”
“The Ledger is your only administrative channel for the duration of this engagement.”
The voice completely ignored his question.
“Listen carefully to the operational rules.”
Wes frowned.
Operational rules?
“Rule one. There are no second chances. Any breach of guest comfort or professional conduct will result in immediate termination of your contract and permanent blacklisting.”
Wes’s stomach tightened.
“Rule two. You have thirty minutes to prepare and put on the provided clothing.”
“Rule three. All communication, requests, and incident reports must go through this device. Your personal phone must be turned off immediately.”
Wes pulled the phone away from his ear.
“Wait.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Reggie said this was basic hosting.”
He looked around the expensive suite.
“What kind of guest is this?”
There was a short pause.
“Your assignment is a Tier-One domestic decompression booking.”
Wes stared at the phone.
He had no idea what that meant.
“The client has been verified under the name Whitlock, Grade Two.”
The voice continued.
“Guest registry name: Colleen.”
Wes froze.
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
“Colleen?”
His voice came out quieter than he expected.
“Did you say Colleen?”
“Correct.”
Wes’s mind immediately went back to the kitchen.
His aunt sitting at the table.
The faded sweater.
The cold mug between her hands.
Her tired face.
Colleen.
No.
It couldn’t be.
“Arrival is scheduled for eleven-fifteen sharp in the adjoining private suite.”
The voice continued as if nothing had happened.
“Ensure your preparation is complete before the timer expires.”
CLICK.
The call ended.
Wes stood there with the phone still pressed against his ear.
“Colleen…”
He lowered the phone.
His mind raced.
Then he shook his head.
“Don’t be stupid.”
He said it quietly, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.
“Colleen is a common name.”
He started pacing.
“There are probably hundreds of Colleens in this city.”
He stopped.
“Colleen Whitlock.”
His stomach tightened again.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“There’s no way.”
Wes dropped the phone onto the sofa.
He needed to focus.
He walked toward the bedroom.
The king-sized bed looked almost too large for the room.
Beside it stood a polished stone table with an ice bucket and a bottle of expensive champagne.
Then he noticed something beside the bucket.
A small gold packet.
Wes picked it up.
He turned it over.
His face slowly changed.
It was a condom packet.
Luxury packaging.
Gold lettering.
The kind of thing that didn’t need an explanation.
Wes stared at it.
His stomach dropped.
“Hosting?”
The word came out as a whisper.
Reggie had told him it was corporate hospitality.
Pour drinks, talk to the guest and keep them company.
Be professional.
That was all.
But this?
This didn’t look like a job where he simply poured wine.
The entire story Reggie had given him suddenly felt wrong.
The finance job.
The corporate client.
The easy twelve hundred dollars.
None of it made sense anymore.
Wes looked at the midnight-blue suit waiting on the valet stand.
Twelve hundred dollars.
That money was already sitting in his bank account.
Money he desperately needed.
If he walked out now, Reggie would probably never forgive him.
And Wes would be right back where he started, broke, unemployed and one step away from being thrown out by Walt Grimes.
He closed his eyes.
Then took a breath.
“You’re an actor.”
He opened his eyes.
“You know how to play a part.”
He picked up the suit.
“You’ve played the lead in three productions.”
He smiled bitterly.
“So play this one.”
He took off his old jacket.
Then he changed into the midnight-blue trousers.
The fabric felt completely different from anything he had ever worn.
Soft.
Smooth.
Perfectly fitted.
He put on the white Egyptian-cotton shirt and carefully buttoned it.
Then came the tie.
He tied a clean Windsor knot.
Finally, he slipped into the jacket.
It fit him perfectly.
Wes looked down at himself.
Then he picked up the silver watch.
He fastened it around his left wrist.
TICK.
TICK.
TICK.
The second hand moved steadily across the blue face.
Wes walked toward the full-length mirror.
For a few seconds, he simply stared.
The broke kid from the warehouse was gone.
In his place stood someone who looked like he belonged in a corner office on the top floor of a skyscraper.
The suit fitz, the watch looked expensive.His hair was neatly styled, his shoulders were straight.
Even his expression had changed.
He didn’t look nervous anymore.
At least, not on the outside.
Wes stared at his reflection.
“You look like you belong here.”
He paused.
Then gave a small nod.
“Just don’t forget who you are.”
DING!
The black phone on the sofa suddenly lit up.
A red message filled the screen.
[ ALERT: GUEST HAS ENTERED ADJOINING SUITE 714 ]
[ OPERATIONAL STATUS: LIVE ]
[ PROCEED TO CONNECTING DOOR IMMEDIATELY. ]
Wes’s heart began beating faster again.
Wes picked up the phone, slid it into his inner jacket pocket, turned the brass handle of the connecting door, and stepped through.