PART 5: The Summoning
PART 5: The Summoning
Internal phone lines deliver chilling ultimatums.
The shrill ringing of the desk phone echoed loudly in the confined space of the general manager's office.
Patrick and Karl stood frozen near the door, watching Arthur as though he were standing at the edge of an active volcano.
Arthur swallowed hard, reached out with a trembling hand, and lifted the receiver to his ear.
"Suite... Suite 904, Arthur Pendelton speaking, Founder Vance—" Arthur stammered, his voice pitching high with nervous subservience.
"Mr. Pendelton," Clara’s voice cut through the line. It wasn't raised. It was calm, measured, and entirely devoid of emotion, which made it infinitely more terrifying than a shout. "I trust your evening is going well downstairs with the gala."
"Founder Vance, I... I just heard about what happened at the front desk," Arthur blurted out, tripping over his own words. "It’s an absolute abomination! Those two reckless associates acted entirely outside hotel protocol, and I have already initiated disciplinary action—"
"Stop talking, Arthur," Clara interrupted softly.
Arthur clamped his mouth shut instantly.
"You haven't initiated anything yet because you only found out about it sixty seconds ago when Patrick ran into your office in a panic," Clara continued smoothly. "I watched your staff from the lobby. I watched how they treat people who don't fit their narrow, superficial definition of luxury."
"Ma'am, please, give us a chance to rectify this," Arthur pleaded, glaring daggers at Patrick and Karl, who were shrinking back against the wall. "We can send up a complimentary bottle of vintage champagne, a fruit basket, anything you—"
"I don't want champagne, Arthur," Clara said, her tone hardening like steel. "And my six-year-old daughter certainly doesn't care about a fruit basket. She is asleep because she spent three hours delayed at an airport while your front-desk staff stood here gossiping and mocking tired travelers."
There was a brief pause on the line, filled only by the faint hum of electronic interference.
"I want you to come up to Suite 904 in exactly ten minutes," Clara instructed.
"Yes, ma'am! Right away!"
"Bring Patrick and Karl with you," Clara added. "And bring Lupita from housekeeping as well."
"Lupita?" Arthur blinked, confused. "What does housekeeping have to—"
"Just bring her, Arthur," Clara said coldly. "See you in ten minutes."
Click.
The line went dead.
Arthur slowly lowered the phone back onto its cradle, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. He turned his furious gaze toward Patrick and Karl.
"She wants all of us upstairs," Arthur hissed. "And she specifically asked for Lupita."
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Karl swallowed hard. "Why Lupita? She’s just a maid."
"Because," Arthur snapped, grabbing his suit jacket, "while you two arrogant fools were busy judging people by their clothes, Lupita was the only person in this entire lobby acting like a true hospitality professional."
