Chapter 3 - THE KEY IN THE ARCHIVE
Sophia followed Alexander upstairs.
The Ashford Grand had an entire private floor reserved for the family.
Unlike the ballroom below, the hallway was quiet.
Dark wood.
Old paintings.
Heavy carpet.
Photographs of Ashford hotels stretching across generations.
Alexander stopped outside a set of double doors.
Two security officers stood there.
“The archive was opened forty minutes ago,” he said.
“By Victoria?”
“They saw her badge.”
Sophia frowned.
“She doesn't work here.”
“No.”
“Then how did she get access?”
Alexander's jaw tightened.
“That is what we're trying to find out.”
He opened the door.
Inside, rows of shelves held contracts, photographs, old hotel records, and family correspondence.
Samuel sat at a desk.
His hands rested on a wooden box.
He looked at Sophia.
“Come here.”
She approached.
Samuel opened the box.
Inside was an old black notebook.
Sophia stopped breathing.
“My father's.”
“Yes.”
She reached for it.
Samuel pulled it back.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to know what you're holding.”
Alexander stood behind her.
Samuel opened the notebook.
Most pages contained names and dates.
Some were written in Miguel's handwriting.
Others contained hotel room numbers.
License plates.
Times.
Descriptions of people.
Sophia frowned.
“My father wasn't a security officer.”
“No.”
“What is this?”
Samuel looked at Alexander.
“Your father knows.”
Alexander's expression hardened.
“My father?”
“Robert Ashford.”
Sophia looked between them.
“What does my father have to do with him?”
Samuel closed the notebook.
“Six years ago, your father discovered that someone inside the Ashford organization was stealing guest information.”
Alexander stared.
“Guest information?”
“High-profile guests.”
“Why?”
“To blackmail them.”
Sophia's stomach tightened.
“What did my father find?”
“A list.”
“Of names?”
“Yes.”
“Whose names?”
“Politicians. Judges. Investors. Celebrities. Foreign officials.”
Alexander looked stunned.
“Why would my father be involved?”
“He wasn't.”
Samuel pointed toward the notebook.
“Miguel found the list.”
Sophia looked at the cover.
“Then why did he die?”
Samuel's expression hardened.
“Because someone wanted the list back.”
Alexander stepped closer.
“Who?”
Samuel looked at him.
“That is what we never discovered.”
Sophia remembered the night her father died.
The hospital.
The rain.
The way he had struggled to breathe.
She had believed the wound was an accident.
A delayed injury.
Now she wasn't sure.
“Did someone kill him?”
Samuel didn't answer immediately.
Then he said,
“I believe so.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
For six years, she had blamed herself for not asking enough questions.
Now she realized there had been questions nobody wanted her to ask.
A sound came from the hallway.
The security officers rushed in.
“Mr. Ashford.”
Alexander turned.
“What?”
“Ms. Lane has left the building.”
“Where?”
“She took a service elevator.”
Alexander swore under his breath.
Sophia looked at him.
“Why would she steal your grandfather's archive?”
“I don't know.”
Samuel did.
He pointed at the notebook.
“She wasn't looking for the notebook.”
Sophia frowned.
“Then what?”
“The photograph.”
Sophia remembered the photograph from the ballroom.
Her father.
Samuel.
The subway entrance.
She searched the desk.
It was gone.
“Someone took it.”
Samuel nodded.
“And Victoria knew exactly where it was.”
Alexander looked at the security officers.
“Lock the hotel down.”
Sophia interrupted.
“No.”
Everyone turned.
“She wants us to do that.”
Alexander frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if she wanted to escape, she wouldn't have taken the service elevator.”
Samuel studied her.
“What do you think she wants?”
Sophia remembered the way Victoria had looked at her.
Not angry.
Calculating.
“She wants me to follow her.”
Alexander stared.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Sophia looked at the black notebook.
“But my father knew something.”
She closed it.
“And Victoria thinks I know something too.”
Alexander shook his head.
“You're not going anywhere alone.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
They took the service elevator.
It opened onto the hotel's underground garage.
Victoria's car was gone.
But one security camera showed something unusual.
A black sedan had followed her.
Alexander watched the footage.
“That's not one of our vehicles.”
Sophia pointed.
“Zoom in.”
The plate was visible.
Alexander called security.
“Find that plate.”
The response came minutes later.
“It belongs to a company called Bellweather Consulting.”
Alexander frowned.
“Never heard of it.”
Sophia looked at the notebook.
A page had fallen open.
One name was underlined.
Bellweather.
Her stomach dropped.
“My father knew them.”
Samuel looked at her.
“How?”
Sophia pointed.
“It's in his notebook.”
Alexander read the entry.
BELLWEATHER — ASHFORD — NIGHT OF OCTOBER 17.
The date was six years ago.
The night Miguel died.
Alexander stared at the page.
“My father was at the hotel that night.”
Sophia looked at him.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Samuel stood.
“Neither do I.”
For the first time, Alexander looked genuinely shaken.
“My father told me he was in Boston that week.”
Samuel's face tightened.
“Then he lied.”
Alexander looked toward the garage exit.
“Why would he lie about the night Miguel died?”
Sophia didn't answer.
Because she was thinking about Victoria.
The ring.
The archive.
The photograph.
The notebook.
Everything connected.
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Victoria standing inside a warehouse.
Behind her was a man Sophia didn't recognize.
On the table between them lay her father's black notebook.
The message beneath it contained one sentence.
If you want to know why Miguel died, come alone.
Alexander read it over her shoulder.
“No.”
Sophia looked at him.
“I'm going.”
“You're not.”
“He was my father.”
“And I owe him my life.”
Alexander's voice softened.
“That means you're not going alone.”
Sophia stared at him.
Then noticed something else in the photograph.
A silver watch on the man's wrist.
Her father's watch.
She had buried that watch with him.
Or thought she had.
Her face went pale.
“That watch was buried with my father.”
Alexander looked at the photograph.
“Then whoever is wearing it knows something we don't.”
Sophia's eyes fixed on the image.
“No.”
She whispered.
“They're not asking me to come alone.”
“Then what are they asking?”
Sophia looked at Alexander.
May you like
“They're asking me to remember.”
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