Chapter 6: Not in My Lobby

The lobby went silent.

A couple waiting at the elevator turned around.

A man reading the paper by the fireplace lowered it.

The doorman stood very straight in his green coat.

"May I ask why, sir?"

"You turned away contractors I sent. With a signed letter. In my own building."

"I was standing beside the night manager, sir. She asked them to come back at a civil hour."

"I don't care what she asked."

My father held out his hand.

"The coat. Now."

The doorman's white gloves went to his top button.

His hands were steady.

He'd buttoned that coat every night for forty-nine years.

He'd buttoned my mother into her snowsuit in this lobby when she was four.

I came around the bar.

"Leave it on," I said.

Every head in the lobby turned to me.

My father's jaw tightened.

"Stay out of this, Clem."

"I'm the night manager. Staffing on the night shift is my call. It's in my contract, which you signed."

"Then you're overruled."

"Then I'll pay him."

I walked across the marble until I was standing next to the doorman.

"His salary comes out of mine, starting tonight. Every cent. He keeps the coat, he keeps the door, and Fairbairn Hotels doesn't pay him a dime."

My father laughed.

"You make sixty-one thousand a year."

"I know exactly what I make."

"That won't cover him."

"I've got savings. And I'm about to be very rich, remember?"

A small sound came from the fireplace.

The man with the newspaper was smiling behind it.

My father stepped close so only I could hear.

"Your mother is dead, Clem," he said softly. "This building is mine. I can do whatever I want in it."

I didn't step back.

"For twenty-four more days," I said.

Something moved behind his eyes.

It was quick, but I saw it.

He hadn't known I'd done the math.

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