Chapter 497
Chapter 496:
The video conference window showed twelve faces arranged in a grid that made them look like suspects in a lineup. Jocelyn sat at the head of her virtual table, her back straight, her expression neutral. She wore a black silk blouse she had thrown on quickly, her hair still damp from the shower, her coffee cooling untouched beside her keyboard.
“Next,” she said.
The hotel managers reported in sequence. Miami: up twelve percent. Chicago: steady. Los Angeles: a new partnership with a film studio, a projected boost next quarter.
Then Davis appeared. Philadelphia. The new boutique property in the arts district — the one Jocelyn had personally approved, the one that was supposed to anchor their entire mid-Atlantic expansion.
His face was gray. His eyes wouldn’t meet the camera.
“Mr. Davis,” Jocelyn said, keeping her voice gentle and encouraging. She had learned long ago that fear produced worse results than confidence. “Your numbers, please p>
𝖮𝗿𝘨an𝗂z𝗲 𝗒o𝘂𝘳 l𝗶b𝗿a𝘳у o𝗇 𝗴alո𝘰𝘷e𝗅ѕ.c𝗈𝗺
Davis swallowed. He shared his screen.
The spreadsheet was a massacre. Occupancy: forty-two percent, down from ninety-eight in December. Revenue: negative. Guest complaints: two hundred and seventeen in the past thirty days, up from four.
Jocelyn felt her stomach clench. Her face showed nothing.
“Explain,” she said.
“It’s the building next door.” Davis’s voice cracked. “A warehouse. They converted it last month — no permits we can find, no business registration — but every night—” He stopped and played an audio file.
The sound that came through her speakers was almost physical. A low-frequency throb felt in the sternum more than heard, punctuated by random crashes and the distant shriek of audio feedback. Beneath it, barely audible, a woman’s voice: “I want a refund! This is unacceptable! I haven’t slept in three days p>
Davis stopped the recording.
“We’ve called the police,” he said. “They arrive, the noise stops, they leave, it starts again. We’ve contacted the city, the zoning board, the health department.” He let out a short, broken laugh. “The owner has connections. Local connections. We’re told to be patient. To work with the business community p>
Jocelyn scanned the other faces on her screen. Some looked sympathetic. Some looked quietly relieved it wasn’t their property. None of them looked like they had solutions.
“Legal action?” she asked.
“Months,” said her general counsel from a small window in the corner. “Possibly years. Injunctions, appeals — the owner has the resources to delay indefinitely. And in the meantime—” He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to. In the meantime, the hotel died. The brand died. The millions she had invested, the team she had built, the future she had imagined — all of it drowned in bass frequencies and civic corruption.
“Close the affected floors,” someone offered. “Operate at reduced capacity until p>
“No.” Jocelyn’s voice cut through the discussion like a blade. She rose from her chair, hands flat on the desk. “We don’t retreat. We don’t accommodate. We don’t let some local criminal destroy what we’ve built because he knows the right people to bribe p>
She looked at the screen — at Davis’s desperate face, at the numbers that represented real money, real jobs, and real failure if she allowed it to continue.