Chapter 3 - The Maintenance Shaft
I stared down at the blank, cream-colored pages of the fake sketchpad.
Julian had swapped my life's work while I was trying on a cheap jacket in a dusty fitting room.
The security guard behind me pulled out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs and took a step forward.
Julian calmly ordered the man to take me down to the basement and ensure I was never seen in the city again.
I didn't survive twenty years on steel beams hundreds of feet in the air to die quietly in a hotel basement.
As the guard reached for my wrists, I dropped the fake sketchpad and drove my elbow violently backward into his throat.
The giant man choked and stumbled back, giving me exactly one second to react.
I sprinted toward the heavy mahogany doors, bursting out into the bustling service hallway just behind the ballroom kitchen.
Waiters carrying trays of champagne shouted in surprise as I shoved past them.
I knew the layout of this hotel intimately because I had framed its western wing renovation fifteen years ago.
I dodged two more security guards and slipped into a dark, narrow maintenance corridor reserved for the engineering staff.
The air in here smelled like ozone, hot dust, and industrial lubricant.
I ran down the concrete stairs, desperately searching for the central security hub to access the main ballroom projector.
I pushed open the heavy metal door of the security control room, expecting to fight a team of guards.
There was only one man sitting in the rolling chair in front of the monitors.
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He slowly turned around, and the blood instantly drained from my face.
It was Briggs, the foreman who was supposed to check the safety cables on the day I lost my finger and fell four stories.
