Morning light poured through the high glass walls of The Imperial Crest, but the air was heavy, the calm before a storm. John stood at the upper balcony of the executive floor, staring down at the lobby where guests bustled under chandeliers. The hotel pulsed with life again, but something about that rhythm felt off. Too quick. Too perfect.
Shack entered quietly. "The numbers from last night's bookings are strange," he said. "A sudden wave of cancellations, all from corporate clients linked to Mart-Dove."
John didn't turn. "Harrison's hand."
"Most likely," Shack replied. "He's feeding them rumours. I'm certain of it. Some staff members have started whispering that you forged your father's documents."
John's reflection in the glass barely moved. "Fear spreads faster than proof. We let them talk. Then we give them the truth."
Shack's tone darkened. "He's not working alone. Collins is still missing. And Rose hasn't clocked in for two days."
John finally turned. "Find them both."
Shack nodded and left.
John stood still for a moment longer, watching the golden crest in the lobby below. It shone like a promise, but he knew how fragile gold could be. One crack, one lie, and the whole empire could collapse again.
---
Rita moved quickly through the service hallway, her heart pounding. She had spent the morning combing through internal messages, tracing subtle exchanges between Rose and the missing Collins. At first, it looked like casual conversation—shift schedules, staff issues—but hidden between lines were encrypted numbers and strange file references.
She stopped outside the communications room, glancing around before slipping inside. The hum of machines filled the air. She sat at a terminal, entered a code she'd found in one of Rose's messages, and held her breath as an unfamiliar window opened.
Dozens of emails appeared, each one forwarded to an external address. The sender tag read R. Harrison.
Rita's chest tightened. She copied everything onto a drive, hands shaking. Just as she was about to log out, a voice behind her said, "You should not be here."
She turned sharply. Rose stood in the doorway, eyes cold, lips curved in a mocking smile.
"I was wondering who was foolish enough to snoop around," Rose said. "I should have known it would be you."
Rita stood, trying to hide the flash drive. "What are you doing, Rose? You're helping him destroy the Crest."
Rose laughed softly. "The Crest was already his long before Raymond showed up. You think this place belongs to John? He inherited walls built by thieves."
"You're lying," Rita snapped.
Rose stepped closer. "Am I? You have no idea what your precious John has done to stay ahead. He's no saviour, just another vulture in a suit."
Rita clenched her jaw. "You sold your loyalty for scraps from a traitor. I won't."
Rose's expression turned dark. "Then you'll regret standing in my way."
Before Rita could react, Rose shoved her against the console and ran. Rita gasped, forcing herself up. The drive was still in her hand. She bolted after her, racing down the hall toward the elevators.
By the time she reached the lobby, Rose was gone.
---
Upstairs, John was meeting with the finance team when Shack burst in. "Emergency," he said. "The hotel's internal system has been hacked. All reservation data is being wiped."
John froze. "How?"
"Someone accessed the servers remotely," Shack replied. "From within the building."
"Shut it down."
"We tried. The system's locked."
John strode out of the meeting room, his mind racing. In the control office, technicians frantically tapped at keyboards as screens flashed warnings. "Unauthorised access," one display read. "Deleting files."
"Who's logged in?" John demanded.
The lead technician swallowed. "It's using Harrison's old credentials—but they're being rerouted through Collins' ID."
John's jaw tightened. "Trace the signal."
"It's coming from the maintenance network… sub-level three."
Shack's eyes widened. "That's the same level Harrison built his private server on during renovations."
John grabbed a headset from the desk. "Seal every exit except the north stairwell. I'm going down."
"John—" Shack began.
"Now," he ordered.
He left before anyone could argue.
*****
The sub-level was dimly lit, filled with the smell of dust and metal. Pipes ran along the ceiling like veins. John moved quickly, flashlight cutting through the gloom. His footsteps echoed against the concrete floor.
Somewhere ahead, a faint mechanical hum pulsed steadily. He followed it to an old storage room. The door was slightly ajar.
Inside, the glow of computer screens filled the darkness. Collins sat at the desk, typing furiously, sweat dripping down his temples. He froze when John spoke.
"Step away from the console."
Collins turned slowly, fear and guilt warring in his eyes. "I didn't want to, sir. He made me."
"Harrison?"
"He said he'd kill my brother if I didn't help him. I thought—"
"You thought betrayal was easier than courage," John said coldly.
Collins's voice cracked. "I'm sorry."
John moved closer. "Where is he now?"
Before Collins could answer, a sharp click echoed behind them. John turned. A small red light blinked above the power box.
A bomb timer.
"Get down!" John shouted.
The explosion ripped through the far wall, hurling them both to the ground. Dust and fire burst into the room, alarms blaring through the sub-level. John coughed, pushing debris off his shoulders. Collins lay a few feet away, unconscious but alive. The main servers sparked violently, screens going black one by one.
John dragged Collins out of the room as the sprinklers came on. Water rained from the ceiling, mixing with smoke. Shack's voice crackled over the headset. "John! What happened?"
"Explosion in the sub-level. System's compromised. Get emergency crews now."
"Are you hurt?"
"I'll live."
He reached the stairwell, breathing hard. The hotel trembled as fire alarms wailed above. Staff and guests flooded the lobby in panic. Smoke curled up from the vents.
Shack met him halfway, his face grim. "They hit us really hard. All digital records are gone. Bookings, finances—everything."
John wiped water from his face. "Rebuild them manually. No one leaves until we know who planted that device."
Rita rushed toward them, clutching the drive she had taken. "John! Rose was behind it. She's working with Harrison. I have proof."
He took the drive, slipping it into his pocket. "Good work. Go to the security office and stay there."
She nodded, shaking. "He won't stop, John. You know that."
"I know," he said quietly. "And neither will I."
---
By evening, the fire was contained. The guests had been evacuated safely, but news had already spread. Reporters gathered outside the gates, cameras flashing against the rain. The Imperial Crest, the city's most prestigious hotel, was suddenly a headline of scandal.
John stood in the ruins of the sub-level, soaked and silent. Shack joined him, his coat stained with ash.
"Whoever planted that bomb knew exactly where to strike," Shack said. "This wasn't random."
John nodded slowly. "It was a message."
He turned toward the far wall, where the blast had torn through steel and concrete. Amid the wreckage, something gleamed—a shard of glass from a broken photo frame. Inside it, the faint image of the old Crest could still be seen, the word Raymond half-burned.
Shack spoke softly. "What will you do?"
John stared at the ruin. "The same thing my father would have done."
He straightened, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "Rebuild. Stronger. But first—hunt the one who set the fire."
Outside, lightning flashed over the skyline, casting the shattered hotel in silver light.
Miles away, in a dark motel room, Harrison watched the news broadcast on an old television. His reflection smiled back from the glass.
"The lion bleeds," he whispered. "Now, let's see if he roars."
The screen flickered, and somewhere in the static, his laughter blended with the sound of thunder.
—