Chapter 4: A Witness Named Marcus
The statement Sloane gave in the main hall lasted four minutes.
She thanked the investors for their presence and their patience.
She confirmed that the hotel was fully operational and financially sound.
She said that a forensic audit was underway and that all findings would be shared with the board within seventy-two hours.
She did not mention Grant by name.
She did not mention Bianca at all.
The reporters asked seven questions.
She answered four of them.
When it was over, Dana caught up with her in the corridor near the service entrance.
"Grant's attorney arrived," Dana said.
"He's with him in the east conference room.
They've been in there for twenty minutes."
"Good," Sloane said.
"Let them talk."
"There's something else." Dana lowered her voice.
"Grant's witness.
The person he claims watched you sign the contract."
Sloane stopped walking.
"Who is it?"
"A man named Marcus Hale.
He's listed as a hotel consultant on the payroll.
Has been for the past ten months."
Sloane turned to look at her.
"I've never heard that name."
"No," Dana said.
"But Grant has been paying him four thousand dollars a month.
The payments are in the audit."
They stood in the corridor for a moment.
Somewhere deeper in the hotel, a door opened and closed.
"So Grant has a paid consultant," Sloane said, "who is also his only witness to a signature I never made."
"That's what the records suggest."
"Find him," Sloane said.
"Before Grant's attorney does."
Marcus Hale was located forty minutes later, sitting in the hotel bar on the ground floor, nursing a glass of water.
He was younger than Sloane had expected — mid-thirties, neat, with the careful stillness of someone who had been told to wait and was trying not to look like it.
Sloane sat down across from him without being invited.
"Mr.
Hale," she said.
"I'm Sloane.
The woman whose signature you apparently witnessed."
He looked at his glass.
"I was told not to speak to you."
"By Grant?"
He didn't answer.
"Mr.
Hale," she said.
"I'm going to tell you what's going to happen in the next few days, and then you can decide how you'd like to be part of it." She kept her voice level.
"The audit has already confirmed two point three million dollars in fraudulent withdrawals.
The transfer contract carries a forged signature, which a handwriting analyst has already flagged.
Grant's attorney is in a conference room upstairs trying to build a defense out of whatever Grant has told him in the last twenty minutes." She paused.
"The one thing Grant told him, I'm guessing, is that you were there.
That you saw me sign."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"I'm not going to threaten you," Sloane said.
"But I want you to understand that when this goes to a formal proceeding — and it will — the question won't be whether the signature was forged.
That's already established.
The question will be who knew and said nothing." She folded her hands on the table.
"That's a different kind of problem."
He looked up.
His eyes were tired.
"He told me it was a formality.
That you'd already agreed verbally and the paperwork was just catching up."
"And you believed that."
"I needed the work." He said it plainly, without self-pity.
"I have a daughter.
I've been between contracts for eight months.
He offered me a consulting retainer and I didn't ask enough questions."
Sloane looked at him.
She had expected a co-conspirator.
She had found something more complicated.
"Will you make a statement?" she said.
"To my attorney.
On the record."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"If I do," he said, "what happens to the retainer payments?"
"That's between you and the auditors," Sloane said.
"But cooperating early is different from being found later.
Your attorney will tell you the same thing."
Marcus set down his glass.
He looked at the bar, at the bottles lined up behind it, at the room Sloane had built from nothing.
"He told me your name was on the deed," he said.
"He told me the hotel was half his."
"It was never half his," Sloane said.
"Not one brick."
Marcus nodded slowly.
He reached into his jacket and took out his phone.
"I want to call my own attorney first," he said.
"That's exactly what you should do," Sloane said.
She stood, smoothed her jacket, and walked back toward the elevator.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
A message from Dana: *Grant just asked to speak to you.
Alone.
No attorneys.*
Sloane read it twice.
May you like
Then she typed back: *Tell him I'll be there in ten minutes.
And make sure the room has a working camera.*
