“He found the overtime notebook.”
The blood left her face.
Samuel set down the spoon.
“What notebook?”
Rosa stood too quickly, pain flashing across her wrist. “Nothing.”
Lou looked at Samuel and then back at Rosa. “He tore two pages out already.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
Samuel rose. “You said you wrote down every hour.”
She nodded once.
“Did you make copies?”
“No.”
Samuel reached inside his coat and took out a small phone that did not fit the rest of his appearance. He opened a secure message thread and typed one sentence to Evelyn.
Find Rosa Martinez. Housekeeping, eighteen years. Preserve payroll and badge records before anyone edits anything.
Then he put the phone away before Rosa saw the screen.
“You should stay here,” she said. “If he sees you again—”
“He already saw me.”
“That’s not the point.”
Samuel looked toward the corridor. “I think it might be.”
Holloway’s office sat one floor above the lobby, behind frosted glass and a walnut door. He had summoned Rosa there, but she never reached it. Halfway down the service hall, Holloway appeared with Ryan Shaw beside him.
Shaw was the hotel’s purchasing director, a narrow man with silver-framed glasses who handled vendor contracts, linens, amenities, maintenance supplies, and enough discretionary spending to hide a great many sins inside ordinary invoices. Samuel had met him only twice at corporate events. Shaw did not recognize him now.
Holloway held Rosa’s notebook between two fingers.
“This one’s yours?” he asked.
Rosa stopped.
“Yes, sir.”
“Interesting hobby.” He flipped it open. “Dates. Clock-in times. Clock-out times. Notes about who changed what.”
“They’re my hours.”
“They’re company records copied without authorization.”
“They’re my own work hours.”
Holloway tore one page down the middle.
Rosa made a sound that was almost a gasp.
Samuel felt something old and cold move through him.
Holloway tore another page and dropped the pieces into a trash bin. “Eighteen years,” he said. “And you still haven’t learned who owns the records in this building.”
Rosa’s chin lifted. “The hours happened whether you keep the paper or not.”
Holloway’s eyes hardened. “Starting tomorrow, your schedule is cut in half.”
“Please, sir.” Her voice broke despite her effort to steady it. “I’m raising my grandson alone.”
“And this?” Holloway held up a small envelope taken from the notebook. “Cash tips?”
“That belongs to the floor team.”