The empire he stole from me

The first thing I saw when I stepped into the Ellery Grand was my father's name being erased.

Not literally. The gold letters had already been removed from the marble wall behind the reception desk. But the new RUSK INTERNATIONAL emblem occupied the space where ELLERY GRAND had stood for forty-two years, polished so brightly that it caught the light from every chandelier.

I stopped beneath it.

Three years ago, my father had stood in this exact lobby, greeting guests by name. He knew which rooms had the best views, which guests preferred their coffee before breakfast and which employees needed an extra day off without being asked.

Now, his name wasn't even worth a mention.

"Miss? Are you checking in?"

The receptionist's voice pulled me back.

I looked at her. "I'm here for the anniversary reception."

She glanced at the tablet in front of her. "Your name?"

"Maren Ellery."

Her fingers stopped moving.

It was brief, barely a second, but I caught it. Recognition followed by uncertainty. My surname still had that effect on people. Some remembered the hotels. Others remembered the trial.

She recovered quickly.

"Of course. Welcome to the Ellery Grand."

I almost laughed.

"Thank you."

She handed me a black invitation card and directed me towards the ballroom. I walked away before she could decide whether to offer condolences or pretend she hadn't recognised me.

The reception was already underway.

Men in tailored suits stood beneath the chandeliers, discussing investments over glasses of champagne. Women in expensive dresses laughed at jokes that probably weren't funny. A string quartet played near the windows.

Everything was beautiful.

Everything had been paid for with money my father never got the chance to recover.

I accepted a glass of water from a passing waiter and scanned the room.

Gideon Rusk wasn't there yet.

That was fine. I hadn't come for him.

My attention settled on the staircase leading to the hotel's administrative floor. The original executive office was still there, though I doubted anything inside belonged to us anymore.

I had seen the renovation photographs. The walls had been replaced, the furniture changed, and my father's private study converted into a conference room.

But the old records room was different.

It had been built behind the executive office, accessible through a narrow door concealed by a wooden wall panel. My father used to keep original contracts and property documents there. Most of them had supposedly been transferred during the acquisition.

Supposedly.

Three weeks ago, a former employee had sent me a photograph of a document bearing my father's signature. It was dated two days after the transaction that supposedly transferred ownership of our first three hotels.

My father had been in court that day.

He couldn't have signed it.

I had spent three weeks trying to establish where the original document was kept. Tonight was my first chance to find out.

I placed my untouched glass on a passing tray and headed towards the staircase.

A security guard stood at the entrance.

"Administrative floor is restricted tonight, ma'am."

"I'm looking for the ladies' room."

"That's downstairs."

I smiled politely. "Of course."

Then I turned away.

I waited until a group of guests approached the staircase. While the guard was occupied checking their invitations, I slipped behind them and took the stairs two at a time.

The second floor was quieter.

I knew the layout well enough to find the executive corridor without looking at the signs. The carpet had changed, but the narrow window beside the old records room was still there.

I reached for the door.

Locked.

Of course.

I pulled a slim metal tool from the inside pocket of my clutch. It wasn't sophisticated, but I had practised enough to know how to work an ordinary office lock.

The mechanism clicked.

I slipped inside and closed the door behind me.

The room smelled of fresh paint and polished wood. Shelves lined one wall, filled with neatly labelled archive boxes. Most carried dates from the last three years.

I moved quickly, checking the labels.

Acquisitions. Legal transfers. Property restructuring.

Then I found a box marked ELLERY HOSPITALITY, FINAL SETTLEMENT.

My fingers tightened around its edge.

I lifted the lid.

Inside were folders, financial statements and copies of old agreements. I searched through them until I found a thin brown envelope tucked beneath a stack of invoices.

My father's handwriting was on the front.

PRIVATE. DO NOT DESTROY.

For a moment, I forgot where I was.

I opened it.

The envelope contained three pages. The first was a list of transactions between Ellery Hospitality and several companies I didn't recognise. The second contained account numbers.

The third was a photocopy of a signed instruction.

I read it once.

Then again.

The document authorised the transfer of a substantial sum from one of our hotel accounts into a company controlled by Rusk International.

But the signature at the bottom wasn't my father's.

It was Gideon Rusk's.

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I turned.

A man stood in the doorway, his dark suit fitting him with the kind of precision money alone couldn't explain. He was taller than I remembered from the courtroom photographs, his expression controlled and his eyes fixed on the papers in my hand.

Gideon Rusk.

For three years, I had imagined what I would say when I finally stood in front of him.

None of those words came.

His gaze moved from the envelope to my face.

"You're not supposed to be in here."

I forced my fingers to relax around the papers.

"I could say the same about you."

His expression didn't change.

"This is my hotel."

"No. It's your company logo on my father's building."

Something shifted in his eyes.

Recognition.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Maren Ellery."

Hearing my name in his voice made my stomach tighten. He said it without surprise, as if he had expected me to appear sooner or later.

"At least you remember me."

"I remember your father."

"Then you remember what you did to him."

Gideon looked at the document in my hand.

"Where did you find that?"

"Interesting. You didn't ask what it was."

"Because I know exactly what it is."

My heartbeat stumbled.

He knew.

He had known all along.

I slipped the papers back into the envelope. "Then perhaps you can explain why your signature is on a transfer my father was accused of authorising."

His jaw tightened.

"Give me the document."

I laughed softly. "You really haven't changed."

"Neither have you. Still walking into situations you don't understand."

"Don't confuse patience with ignorance, Mr Rusk."

For the first time, his expression hardened.

"You should leave."

"I was planning to."

I moved towards the door, but he stepped aside before I reached him. He wasn't trying to stop me. Somehow, that irritated me more.

I passed him, keeping the envelope close to my body.

"One more thing, Maren."

I stopped.

"How long have you been back in New York?"

"Long enough."

"That wasn't my question."

I turned to face him. "And I don't owe you an answer."

His gaze held mine for several seconds.

Then he said, "You should be careful about what you start looking into."

I smiled, though my hands were cold.

"That's rich coming from you."

I walked out before he could respond.

By the time I reached the ballroom, my pulse had settled enough for me to think clearly. I hadn't found everything I wanted, but I had found something better than a rumour.

Gideon's signature.

And the look on his face when he saw it told me there was a reason that document had been hidden.

I made my way towards the exit, already planning how to authenticate the copy and trace the company listed on the transfer.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Nathaniel Cross appeared on the screen.

Did you find anything?

I glanced back towards the staircase.

Something. I'll explain tomorrow.

His reply came almost immediately.

Don't confront Rusk yet. We need proof he can't destroy.

I read the message twice before putting my phone away.

Nathaniel had been helping me investigate for months. He knew the risks better than anyone. Still, I didn't like being told what to do, especially when I had finally found something worth pursuing.

I pushed through the hotel doors and stepped into the cold New York night.

Behind me, the Ellery Grand shone against the darkness.

For three years, I had believed Gideon Rusk took everything from my family.

Tonight, I had proof that he had taken more than I knew.

And he had just discovered that I was back.