Chapter 3 - The Fall of Pride
A heavy, uncomfortable tension hung in the air.
Feeling the weight of Lupita’s calm defiance, and perhaps sensing that other guests in the lobby were beginning to glance over, Patricia let out another theatrical groaning sigh.
“Fine,” Patricia muttered under her breath. “If it will make everyone stop making a scene.”
She clicked her mouse, minimized the main portal, and opened the secondary corporate system overlay that Lupita had mentioned.
She typed in the letters: V-A-N-C-E, E-T-H-A-N.
She hit the enter key.
Four seconds passed in total silence.
The monitor flickered as the database queried the central corporate cloud.
Then, a bright green confirmation box popped up in the center of Patricia’s screen, displaying glowing white text and an unmistakable golden badge next to the account name.
The color instantly drained from Patricia’s face, leaving her skin a pale, ghostly white.
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her eyes dilated as she stared at the details illuminating the screen.
“What is it?” Karla asked, stepping closer, her smug demeanor suddenly faltering as she saw the sheer terror in her colleague's eyes.
Patricia’s fingers began to tremble visibly against the mouse pad.
“There it is…” Patricia whispered, her voice barely audible, cracking beneath the weight of horror.
“Suite 904…”
“Executive Corporate Reservation…”
“Confirmed two weeks ago… Direct override code: FOUNDER-01.”
A suffocating, heavy silence swept across the front desk.
The ambient noise of the Grand Regent lobby seemed to mute instantly.
Suite 904 was not just a luxury room—it was the private, top-floor Presidential Penthouse suite, reserved strictly for the board of directors, VIP dignitaries, and the elusive majority owner of the entire hotel conglomerate.
Every trace of arrogance, confidence, and dismissive superiority vanished from Patricia and Karla in less than a second.
Their faces froze into masks of sheer, unadulterated panic.
In that single horrifying moment, they realized that the man they had mocked, degraded, and tried to toss out into the cold night rain was not an impoverished wanderer looking for a handout.
He was a guest of ultimate authority.
What they still did not realize—what had not yet registered in their panicked minds—was the full extent of their error.
Ethan Vance wasn’t simply an important corporate guest checking into the Grand Regent for the night.
He was the founder, creator, and absolute owner of every single floor, every room, every light fixture, and every brick of the hotel chain they worked for.
Ethan looked at Patricia’s pale, trembling face. He didn't gloat. He didn't smile. His eyes were cold, reflecting the quiet disappointment of a leader who had built something grand only to watch its culture rot from within.
“Did you find it?” Ethan asked, his voice calm, flat, and chillingly controlled.
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“Mr... Mr. Vance,” Patricia stammered, her voice shaking violently as she reached for a key card with cold, sweaty hands. “I... I apologize profusely. The system... there was a delay in the database sync. I should have checked the secondary server right away.”
“It wasn't a system delay, Patricia,” Ethan said softly, his voice cutting through her excuses like a surgical blade. “The system worked in four seconds. It was your courtesy that suffered a breakdown.”
