Chapter 3 - The Digital Phantom
Ethan stepped away from the door, motioning for the security guard to enter. The guard, a broad-shouldered veteran named Marcus whom Ethan remembered hiring years ago, closed the door behind him and locked it with a mechanical click.
“Marcus,” Ethan acknowledged quietly. “You’re still head of security?”
Marcus nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, Mr. Vance. And I’m glad you’re finally here. For three years, things in this hotel haven't made sense. After Mrs. Vance’s... passing, the board replaced half our division with private contractors. I wasn't allowed near the executive archives on the sub-basement level.”
Lupita gasped, clutching her chest. “The sub-basement? That’s where the old mainframe is kept. Harrington said it was decommissioned!”
“It was never decommissioned,” Marcus corrected her, pulling out his tablet to show a live data stream. “It’s running an isolated server network. And someone down there is currently downloading every encrypted file relating to the 2023 financial audits—the exact year Mrs. Vance investigated.”
Ethan looked back at Lily, who was stirring slightly in her sleep, then turned back to the two allies he could trust. “They know I’m here. When Harrington saw my name on the secondary screen, he must have realized why I brought the photograph. They’re trying to wipe the server before I can issue a formal corporate audit.”
“We need to stop them, sir,” Marcus said firmly. “If those files disappear, whatever killed Mrs. Vance—or covered it up—will stay buried forever.”
“Lupita,” Ethan said, turning to the housekeeper. “Can you watch Lily? Lock this door from the inside and do not open it for anyone except Marcus or myself. No matter what you hear.”
Lupita swallowed hard, wiping her face, and nodded with fierce determination. “Go, Mr. Vance. Find the truth. For Sarah.”
Ethan and Marcus moved swiftly down the private service elevator, bypassing the grand ballroom where the charity gala was already underway. Laughter, champagne glasses clinking, and classical string quartet music drifted faintly through the walls—a sickening facade of luxury hiding the rot underneath.
When the elevator reached the sub-basement, the air changed. It was colder, smelling of ozone, dust, and damp concrete. The emergency lighting flickered, casting long, eerie shadows across the endless rows of grey metal utility pipes.
“The server room is down Corridor B, past the old boiler room,” Marcus whispered, unholstering a heavy tactical flashlight.
As they rounded the corner, they heard the distinct clicking of computer keys echoing through the concrete hall. Someone was inside the terminal room, working frantically.
Ethan motioned for Marcus to stay back, creeping silently toward the half-open door of the server room. Through the crack, the blue glow of monitor screens illuminated a familiar face.
It was Mr. Harrington.
His expensive tuxedo jacket was tossed onto a metal chair, his sleeves rolled up, and sweat poured down his neck as lines of code scrolled across the monitor.
“Come on, delete, delete!” Harrington muttered under his breath, hammering the backspace key. “If Vance gets those financial ledgers, we’re all going away for twenty years.”
Ethan pushed the door wide open. It slammed against the concrete wall with a loud bang.
Harrington froze, his fingers hovering millimeters above the enter key. Slowly, he turned around, his face draining of all color.
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“Vance,” Harrington choked out, trying to force a weak chuckle. “What... what are you doing down here? This is an unauthorized area—”
“Step away from the terminal, Harrington,” Ethan said, his voice dropping into a deadly, quiet register that commanded absolute terror. “The game is over.”
