Chapter 5 - The VIP Antechamber
Inside the Plaza Hotel, the Grand Ballroom was a glittering palace of crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, and tuxedo-clad elites discussing municipal zoning laws and shipping tariffs.
Richard Bellamy stood at the center of the dais, holding a crystal flute of vintage Dom Pérignon, laughing heartily as a city alderman praised his latest port expansion initiative. He looked sixty-two, impeccably groomed, with silver-streaked hair and the oily, frictionless charm of a man who had bought his conscience wholesale thirty years ago.
He had no idea that three floors below, his security detail was being systematically neutralized by Dante’s men, or that a twenty-four-year-old woman he had tried to starve an infant through was currently walking down his private hallway.
On my earpiece, Hunter’s voice crackled softly:
" Rossi... I'm at the VIP antechamber door. Two guards stationed outside."
"Can you bypass them?" I whispered back from the balcony overlooking the ballroom, keeping my dark sunglasses on to blend into the shadows.
"Watch and learn, boss."
Through the glass balcony doors, I watched the distant side corridor on the security monitor feed displayed on my phone.
Hunter approached the two heavy oak doors guarded by Bellamy’s personal enforcers—massive men in custom Italian suits. Instead of acting suspicious, she walked up with a tray carrying a silver coffee pot and two fresh cups.
"Compliments of the catering supervisor," Hunter said, her voice pitching into a polite, deferential service tone that carried clearly through her hidden mic. "Mr. Bellamy requested fresh Colombian blend ten minutes ago."
One of the guards grunted, eyeing her suspiciously. "We didn't order coffee."
"Management’s orders," Hunter smiled, tilting the tray slightly. "Complimentary service for VIP guests. If Mr. Bellamy gets cranky during his speech intermission, my supervisor downstairs takes it out of my paycheck. Be a pal."
The guard hesitated, then stepped aside, waving her through with a bored sigh. "Make it quick. He's on a secure satellite call."
The heavy door clicked shut behind her.
"I'm in," Hunter whispered. "Bellamy's leather briefcase is sitting open on the mahogany desk. His secure laptop is connected to the satellite uplink."
"Plant the bug on the uplink port," I instructed. "And check the physical documents in the briefcase. Look for anything referencing Moretti Maritime or Rossi Holdings."
"Working on it..."
A pause stretched across the comms channel. Only the ambient murmur of the ballroom orchestra filtered through.
Then Hunter’s breath hitched.
"Rossi... you need to see this."
"What is it?"
"It's not just shipping ledgers. It's a medical file. Complete with hospital birth records, genetic markers, and... blueprints."
"Blueprints of what?"
"Your estate," Hunter’s voice dropped into a horrified whisper. "Detailed architectural schematics of the nursery ventilation system. The person who hired Brenda Vance to poison Leo... wasn't just working for Bellamy."
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "Who else was involved?"
Before Hunter could answer, the heavy oak doors of the antechamber banged open behind her.
"Well, well, well," a smooth, oily voice echoed through her open comms mic. "What do we have here? A little housekeeping rat sniffing around where she doesn't belong?"
It wasn't Bellamy’s voice.
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It was a voice I recognized instantly—the voice of my own trusted chief of security, Viktor Vance.
My blood ran instantly cold.
