Cash Back Tycoon: Spend Big, Earn Bigger

Suite 3801

Victor Whitmore wasn't prepared to give anything away, but a man who had mastered winning forgets how loudly he speaks when he's winning.

Ethan sat back at the rear seat of the rented sedan with hands clasped together and repeated the sentence over and over to himself. By tonight, he would be somewhere that neither you nor any detective can ever reach him. Victor hadn't said that Harris was in the city, or that Harris was in the hotel, and he didn't need to. His confidence had already told Ethan all he needed to know.

"We have until tonight," Ethan said as the car turned towards the harbor. "Dana, how fast can you reach the state prosecutor?"

Dana Frost was already punching in numbers as she spoke. "I have a contact in the financial crimes division who doesn't report to Detective Rourke. Her name is Nadia Okafor, and she's been waiting two years for an excuse to open a file on the Whitmore Group."

"Tell her the excuse has arrived."

By three that afternoon, a plain white van with no identifying marks was parked behind the Grand Regency's loading dock. A tall woman in a gray blazer was studying the security feed in the hotel's control room.

Nadia Okafor was about forty-five, with close-cropped hair and the unhurried presence of someone who never had to raise her voice. She watched the grainy footage of a man in a baseball cap sneaking through the service corridor at 3:07 that morning. She paused the frame on his profile.

"That's Harris," she said. "He's thinner than his employee photo, but the jaw is unmistakable."

"He's been in Suite 3801 since three this morning," Pryce said. "The room service log shows two meals ordered out under the name Reynolds."

"And you're certain the suite belongs to the Whitmore Group?"

"The lease is in their corporate name. The owner of the hotel can inspect it anytime he wants."

Okafor looked at Ethan with a flash of appreciation in her eyes. "That's the kind of ownership clause I wish every landlord had."

"What do you need from us?" Dana asked.

"A warrant, and a way to keep him inside the building until it arrives." Okafor tapped the screen. "Victor's people will move him when they feel safe. If they sense a trap, they'll move him sooner."

Ethan thought for a moment. "How many ways are there out of the thirty-eighth floor?"

"Two elevators, one service lift, and a fire stairwell," Pryce said. "The service lift is the only one that reaches the loading dock without passing through the lobby."

"Then the service lift is the one that will break down."

Pryce's eyes went wide, and then he gave a slow, understanding nod. "It's been due for an inspection, sir. The maintenance crew could take it offline at a moment's notice."

"Make sure they're very thorough," Ethan said.

At 6:12 that evening, the camera on the thirty-eighth floor showed the door to Suite 3801 open.

Harris stepped out first. He wore a navy coat that didn't suit him, and he gripped a black duffel bag so tight that his knuckles showed white. Two broad men in dark suits followed him, and one of them carried a radio.

"They're moving early," Okafor murmured, and she pressed a button on her earpiece. "Team two, hold the loading dock. Don't engage until I say."

Marcus, who had been assigned to watch the staff corridor, leaned towards the monitor with his lips pressed into a thin line. "What if they take the main elevator?"

"They won't," Ethan said. "They can't risk the lobby."

On the screen, the trio reached the service lift and pressed the call button. The doors did not open. One of the guards pressed it again, and a small red light blinked next to the panel with an out-of-service notice.

Harris said something that the mic didn't pick up. The larger guard muttered into his radio, and the three of them turned towards the fire stairwell at the end of the corridor.

"Thirty-eight floors," Dana said. "They won't manage it quickly with a duffel bag."

"They only need to reach the thirtieth floor," Pryce said. "There's a connecting bridge to the parking structure at that level."

Ethan was already up on his feet. "Then we'll be on the thirtieth floor."

He ran through the staff corridor with Okafor behind him and Marcus at his shoulder, and the loyalty of four hundred paid employees showed itself in little ways. A housekeeper held the door open without being asked. A bellhop abandoned his cart and flattened himself against the wall. A sous chef set down a tray and ran ahead to clear the way to the stairwell.

They reached the thirtieth floor landing at 6:19, and Ethan pressed his back against the wall next to the heavy steel door.

Footsteps echoed below, rapid and uneven.

Okafor raised two fingers and counted silently. On the third beat, she pushed the door open and stepped into the stairwell with her badge held high.

"State financial crimes unit! Everyone stop where you are!"

The two guards froze in surprise, and one of them reached inside his jacket.

"Do not," Okafor said calmly, and four officers in tactical vests poured through the doorway above him with their weapons leveled. "I won't ask a second time."

The guard's hand came away empty, and he raised both palms.

Harris didn't raise his hands. He stood on the landing with the duffel bag clutched to his chest, and his round face was shiny with sweat. When he saw Ethan standing three steps below him, his expression twisted into something between terror and rage.

"You," Harris breathed. "You stupid, ungrateful boy. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I have a fairly good idea," Ethan said. "I've been looking at your authorization code since last night."

"That money wasn't mine to begin with!" Harris's voice cracked like a whip against the concrete walls. "Victor ordered every transfer. I only signed what he put in front of me, and he told me you would take the blame and nobody would ever ask a question."

"Mr. Harris," Okafor said sharply, "you have the right to remain silent." "I do not care!" Harris dropped the duffel bag, and it burst open on the landing. Stacks of cash spilled across the stairs, along with three passports in different names and a thin leather notebook. "He promised me a new life in another country! He promised that I would be safe!"

"Safe from whom?" Ethan asked quietly.

Harris opened his mouth and then stopped because he suddenly realized what he had admitted. His face crumpled, and the fight went out of him like air from a punctured tire.

An officer stepped forward and cuffed his wrists behind his back.

Okafor crouched and picked up the leather notebook with a gloved hand. She flipped it open and her eyebrows shot up.

"Account numbers," she said. "Dates, amounts, and initials. Every entry has the same set of letters at the end."

"What letters?" Marcus asked.

"V.W."

A heavy silence settled over the stairwell.

Ethan looked at the man who had humiliated him in front of an entire office, and he felt no triumph, only a deep and level calm. Harris would be formally charged tonight, and the real fight was still waiting.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs below them, and a voice shouted in sharp indignation.

"Stop this immediately! This is my arrest, and I demand that the suspect be handed to me at once!"

Detective Rourke burst onto the landing, red-faced and out of breath, with his badge in one hand and his coat flapping behind him. He took one look at the open duffel bag, the cuffs on Harris's wrists, and the state investigator holding the notebook.