Chapter 4: What Dorian Did While She Was Gone
The executive floor smelled like her mother.
Charlotte noticed it the moment the elevator doors opened — a faint trace of the same cedar and white tea her mother had kept in a diffuser on her desk for as long as Charlotte could remember.
Someone had kept it running.
She didn't know if that was loyalty or carelessness, but it stopped her in the doorway for just a moment.
Gerald noticed.
"The housekeeping staff maintained it," he said quietly.
"No one told them to stop."
Charlotte stepped inside.
The office was largely unchanged.
Her mother's desk — a wide piece of dark walnut — sat at the far end of the room facing the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city stretched out below it.
The Solmere name was visible on three buildings from where Charlotte stood.
"Sit down, Gerald," she said.
He sat.
Charlotte remained standing.
"How long have you known who I was?"
Gerald folded his hands on his knee.
"Since the day Mr.
Holt had your photograph removed from the lobby portrait wall.
About two weeks after your mother passed."
"And you said nothing."
"Mr.
Holt told the staff your mother had requested it before she d*ed.
That you had agreed.
That the family wanted privacy." He paused.
"I had no reason to disbelieve him at the time."
"And later?"
Gerald was quiet for a moment.
"Later, I had reasons.
But I also had a contract that Mr.
Holt controlled, a staff of forty-two people whose employment depended on this hotel continuing to operate, and no way to reach you." He looked up.
"I want you to know I tried.
I sent a letter to your mother's attorney in February.
I don't know if it arrived."
"It arrived," Charlotte said.
"It was one of the things that brought me back."
Gerald let out a slow breath.
Charlotte moved to the desk and opened the top drawer.
Empty.
She opened the second.
Also empty.
She stood back and looked at the surface of the desk — clean, polished, bare.
"Where are her files?"
"Mr.
Holt had them moved to off-site storage fourteen months ago.
He said it was for archiving."
"Which facility?"
"Meridian Records.
On the east side."
Charlotte took out her phone and typed the name.
"What else did he move?"
"The original partnership agreements.
The property deeds for the Solmere Aspen and Solmere Edinburgh locations.
And—" Gerald stopped.
"And what?"
"Your mother's personal correspondence.
There were several boxes.
Letters, I believe.
Some of them sealed."
Charlotte set the phone down on the desk.
"He took her letters."
"Yes."
She didn't say anything for a moment.
Outside, the city moved in silence through the glass.
"Gerald, I need you to be honest with me about one more thing."
"Yes, Ms.
Vale."
"The board vote that gave Dorian operational control.
Was it legitimate?"
Gerald's hands tightened on his knee.
"Three of the five board members who voted yes were appointed by Mr.
Holt himself after your mother's passing.
The other two—" he hesitated "—one of them called me afterward.
She said she hadn't understood what she was signing.
That the documents had been presented as a temporary administrative measure."
"Her name?"
"Renata Solis.
She's still on the board."
Charlotte picked up her phone again.
"I'll need her number."
"I have it."
"Good." Charlotte looked around the office once more — the desk, the windows, the city, the cedar and white tea still drifting through the air.
"And Gerald.
The security logs I asked for downstairs."
"I'll have them sent up within the hour."
"Make it thirty minutes."
Gerald stood.
He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the frame.
"Ms.
Vale.
For what it's worth — your mother spoke about you often.
In the last year especially." He didn't turn around.
"She said you were the only one who had never wanted anything from her except her time."
He left before Charlotte could answer.
She stood alone in the office for exactly four seconds.
Then she sat down at her mother's desk, opened her phone, and dialed her attorney.
Downstairs, Dorian Holt was already on his own phone — walking fast toward the service exit, speaking in a voice too low for anyone nearby to catch.
May you like
But the lobby security camera caught his face.
And the audio system — one Charlotte's mother had installed and only Charlotte's attorney knew existed — caught every word.
