“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he left his inhaler in my kitchen.”
The voices behind the door grew louder.
Mark said, “You told me the files had been destroyed.”
A man answered, “You should have stayed away.”
I stared at Ana.
Mark knew about the files.
He knew about the hotel.
He had brought me here anyway.
Ana opened a narrow panel beside the door.
Through it, I saw a room filled with monitors.
Dozens of hotel rooms appeared on the screens.
Couples sleeping.
People changing clothes.
A man kneeling beside a bed with an engagement ring in his hand.
Every private moment reduced to silent footage.
Mark stood near the center.
He wore the black T-shirt he’d slept in and nothing on his feet.
Across from him stood the hotel manager.
I recognized him from check-in.
Victor.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
