Chapter 3 - The Man in the Catering Jacket
Darkness never bothered Naomi.
Panic did.
The hallway filled instantly with shouting staff, clattering carts, and people reaching for phones.
Naomi moved to the wall.
Not because she was afraid.
Because walls removed one direction of attack.
Old habits didn't disappear just because she had traded tailored jackets for a gray housekeeping uniform.
Footsteps pounded ahead.
Fast.
Uneven.
The man in the catering jacket was running blind.
Naomi heard him hit a cart, swear, then keep moving.
Emergency lights flickered red.
He was twenty feet away.
"Stop," Naomi called.
He glanced back.
Young. Maybe thirty.
Terrified.
Not a professional.
That mattered.
He reached the fire door.
Locked.
He yanked twice, turned, and found Naomi standing between him and the ballroom.
"I don't want trouble," he said.
"Then stop creating it."
"I didn't touch the camera."
"I didn't ask yet."
His face collapsed.
Naomi kept her hands visible.
"What's your name?"
"Eli."
"Who gave you the key card, Eli?"
"You saw her."
"What did she tell you to do?"
He looked toward the locked door.
"She said there was a recorder in the security office. She said to pull it and put it in a delivery crate."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"That's the wrong answer."
"It's the true answer."
He reached slowly into his pocket.
Naomi's posture changed.
He froze.
"Phone," he said. "Just my phone."
"Two fingers."
He pulled it out and unlocked a message thread.
The instructions were there.
No name.
A number.
Photos of the recorder.
A loading-bay map.
And a promise of five thousand dollars.
"Vanessa sent this?" Naomi asked.
"I thought so."
"Thought?"
"She gave me the key card, but the messages started before she ever talked to me."
Naomi's eyes moved to the top of the thread.
The first message had arrived nine days ago.
Whoever planned this hadn't improvised after Vanessa's kick.
They had expected a reason to erase ballroom footage before tonight even began.
Owen and two guards appeared at the far end of the corridor.
"Naomi?"
"He's not armed."
Eli held out the phone.
"Please. I just needed the money."
Owen took it.
The lights came back on.
Naomi looked down.
Something had fallen from Eli's jacket when he hit the cart.
A laminated access badge.
Not catering.
Hale Foundation Executive Offices.
The name printed beneath the photograph was not Eli's.
MARTIN KEENE.
Dominic's chief financial officer.
Owen stared at the badge.
"Why do you have Martin Keene's credential?"
Eli's face went white.
"Because that's the man who hired me."
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