DEADLY ACTS IN ROOM 306

Chapter 6

The Confrontation

The Blackwood Grand's ballroom was empty—its chandeliers downgraded, its velvet seating piled up against walls. Moonlight poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting ethereal shadows on the gleaming floor.

 Ethan Carter stood at the center, checking his watch, then quietly tapped on the recording device on the inside of his jacket. He'd left the message exactly as practiced: "Meet me in the ballroom. I know everything." Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Detective Graham Wells entered, trench coat flapping, eyes glinting.

"Quite the dramatic setting, Carter." Ethan stood before him, calm. "Fitting, don't you think? This building has witnessed its fair share of tragedies." Wells's smile never reached his eyes. "You said you had something. Proof?" "I do," Ethan said. "I know about Langley.

About Fisk. About the deleted footage, the doctored reports, the hidden corridor from Room 304." Wells moved forward cautiously. "You've been busy." "And you were careless," Ethan snapped. "Langley's letter accused you. Clara swore he called her for help. The secret passage confirms that no one needed to come in through the front door.

You staged it all as suicide." "You sound sure of yourself," Wells said, glinting eyes. "But assumption isn't fact." "True," said Ethan. "But a confession is." Wells's brow creased. "Excuse me?" Ethan didn't blink. "That night… you came back after the police had left. You made your way through the rear passageway of Room 306, entered unseen, and shot Langley.

You cleaned the gun, posed it in his left hand, and went out through the staff elevator." Wells didn't speak. Then he clapped slowly. Once. Twice. "You actually believe this wraps up with you victorious, Carter?" he stated, voice growing tenser. "Langley was a liability. He poked his nose where it didn't belong.

The same as you." "So you murdered him," Ethan pushed. Wells gave a cold laugh. "What I did—was forestall a threat from unspooling years of work. Langley was going to publish names, accounts, city contracts… All that fuss for a small bit of truth.

And what would it do? Nothing." "Thanks," Ethan said, resting a hand on his jacket with a soothing calm. "That's all I needed." Wells remained motionless. Ethan pulled out the tiny recording device and clicked stop.

 "Every word. Got it." The detective charged, but Ethan stepped back as the ballroom doors swung open. Two uniformed officers and Natalie Reed stood before them—Natalie holding her phone aloft, capturing as well. Wells's face went white. "You set me up," he growled. "You set yourself up," Ethan said.

"You underestimating me—me, the man you silenced—and those willing to finish what he started." A police officer stepped forward. "Detective Graham Wells, you are arrested for the murder of Victor Langley and obstruction of justice." Wells flashed a hostile look at Ethan.

 "You're playing a risky game." Ethan advanced to within inches of him. "The game's over. And this time, the story writes you into the ground." As the cuffed Wells was led out, Ethan looked at Natalie, who nodded. Justice had finally come. And the ghost of Room 306 may now be at peace.

The wind shrieked through the broken window of the storage facility in the Blackwood Grand's east wing. Ethan Carter leaned with his back to the wall, racing heart. Opposite him, Detective Graham Wells stood with a pistol at his hip—relaxed, but accessible.

"You could have walked away," Wells said, tone smooth, almost tired. "You had the notes, the letters… Could have written a nice little mystery novel. Why make it real?" Ethan left his hands in plain sight of Wells.

"Because Victor Langley didn't kill himself. And someone had to make sure the truth did not go with him." Wells laughed harshly. "Langley was an idiot. He thought he could blackmail his way to being a hero. He thought exposing Fisk and me would make a difference." "He was right," Ethan stated. "About everything. He recorded your calls. He made notes.

He left names." "And now he's dead," Wells commented, jerking the gun up a fraction of an inch. "Just like you will be." Ethan took deep breaths. "You sure that's bright." Wells cocked an eyebrow. "What's keeping me back?" Ethan smiled faintly. "Internal Affairs got an anonymous tip three hours ago.

On you. The missing recording. The erased logs. Your association with Leonard Fisk." Wells's smile collapsed. "You're bluffing," he snarled. "You think so?" Ethan murmured, his voice low. "They were told to come in quietly. No sirens. No warning. Just enough time… to make you hang yourself." In the hallway outside, a distant pair of heavy feet sounded down the corridor. Wells's head snapped toward the door.

 "You're lying," he spat. "I'm a reporter," Ethan replied. "I live on the truth." The door burst open and two undercover officers entered, guns raised. "Drop it, Wells!" one yelled. "Now!" Wells's grip on the gun tightened by a fraction of an inch—just for a moment—then he released it slowly to the floor.

The gun clapped against the stone. "Hands where we can see them," the second officer ordered. As cuffs were placed on his wrists, Wells spat at Ethan. "You'll regret this." "I don't think so," Ethan said. "But you'll have time to think about it—twenty years, maybe more." Wells was dragged away in anger.

An IA officer approached Ethan. "You alright?" Ethan let out a breath, finally relaxing. "Now I am." Natalie Reed entered the doorway, winded. "I watched them take him out… it's over?" Ethan nodded. "Yes, we got him."

She smiled, almost tearfully. “Victor… he’d be proud.” “Let’s hope so,” Ethan said, glancing at the recorder still in his coat. “Because the story doesn’t end here. The world’s going to hear everything.”

The IA officer gave him a nod. “Send us your files. Every page. We’ll back it.” Ethan extended his hand. “Done.” As the team cleared the room, Ethan stood by the window, watching the storm break into early dawn. The truth came out at last. Langley's death had been hushed up once. Not now. Not ever again.

The Blackwood Hotel lobby was abnormally quiet—no patrons, no piano, only the creak of leather and a dying howl of a siren lost in the night. Ethan Carter waited at the reception desk as two Internal Affairs officers led Detective Graham Wells out in handcuffs. His expression was rigid—anger cloaked behind a tightly set grin, but his glance flashed coldly at Ethan.

 "Think this is over with me?" Wells snarled as they made their way to the front doors. "Fisk's still free. And the rest of them." "Maybe," Ethan said, folding his arms. "But they'll fall in turn. All of them." The officers prodded Wells forward and disappeared through the revolving door.

The moment they were gone, the silence burst—whispering was seen among the hotel staff, and the tension that had hung like smoke around them slowly dispersed. Natalie Reed accompanied Ethan, her color pale but resolute.

"I don't believe it.

He's actually gone." Ethan nodded. "Langley was right. Wells was the corruption in the system." She looked up at him. "And you didn't resign." "I couldn't," he answered. "The moment I saw the truth. there was no going back.". Natalie handed it to him in the form of a small envelope.

"Victor left this with me when he died. Told if anything ever happened to him, it should go to someone who still had consequences."

Ethan took the envelope from her. opened it slowly. Inside was an old photo—Victor and Clara, standing in front of a building site. On the back, Victor had written: "Some things are worth the risk." Ethan looked at it for a moment, then put it in his pocket. "Langley wasn't perfect," Natalie said, "but he was attempting to do the right thing at the end."

"He was," Ethan said. "And now we will." The manager of the hotel, Ms. Voss, came up uncertainly. "Mr. Carter… on behalf of the staff, thank you. This place—it's been a tomb long enough." Ethan nodded. "That's over. Room 306 will never again be where silence resided." She smiled weakly and vanished. Natalie stood before him. "Now what?" "Now?" Ethan replied, his voice contemplative.

"Now I write. I tell everyone what happened here—the Langley truth, the Wells truth, the Fisk truth, all of it. I'll let people see behind the curtain." She smiled weakly.

"And then what?" Ethan shot one final look around the massive, spectral lobby. "After that. I suppose I take a real vacation. With no ghosts." They both laughed, the weight finally lifted.

Outside, morning was breaking into the mist. The Blackwood Grand, a hotel of secrets and secrets, did not appear quite so evil.