Chapter 2 - The Fall of the MaskThe silence that followed Daniel Reeves’s departure felt heavy enough to crack the marble beneath our feet.
Mom’s hands remained clamped onto the reception counter, her knuckles stark white against the grey stone. Her chest rose and fell in short, rigid breaths, her carefully maintained social-climber facade fracturing faster than cheap glass.
“Maya,” Mom whispered, her voice a dangerous, trembling hiss. “What kind of pathetic sick joke are you playing? Who put you up to this? Did you hire an actor? Is this some sort of rented suit?”
I didn't answer immediately. I slowly zipped up my simple wool coat, slipping my hands into my pockets with absolute, unhurried ease.
“An actor, Mom?” I asked softly, tilting my head. “Daniel Reeves—former Managing Director of the Swiss-Alpine Hospitality Group, with a public profile featured in Forbes and Hospitality Design magazine twice a year—is an actor you think I hired off the street?”
Vanessa found her voice, though it cracked shrilly at the edges. “He... he was just playing along! You probably paid him! You’ve always been obsessed with making up wild fantasies because your actual life is so utterly miserable! You work in a warehouse! Everyone in the family knows you pack boxes in Reno!”
The receptionist behind the desk cleared her throat, her face flushed with extreme discomfort. She cast a nervous glance at me before quietly sliding three heavy, brushed-brass room keys across the marble toward my mother.
“Your keys, Mrs. Williams,” the receptionist murmured, terrified to make eye contact with anyone. “The Presidential Lakeview Villa is prepped. Bellhop services are available whenever you’re ready.”
Mom snatched the keys off the counter as if they were burning hot. She looked at me with venomous eyes, her aristocratic pride violently bruised.
“We are going to our suite,” Mom announced, her voice shaking with suppressed rage. “And you, Maya? You are going to pack your bags and get out of my sight before I ensure you never set foot near a family gathering again. I don't know what scam you’re running, but it ends today.”
“Actually, Mom,” I said, stepping past them toward the private elevator bank, “you’re going to your suite courtesy of a corporate courtesy pass I personally authorized. Enjoy the lake view.”
“We don't need your charity!” Vanessa spat, grabbing her luggage handles. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get away from her before she starts hallucinating that she owns the mountain, too.”
They marched off toward the private elevators, their backs rigid, their heads held high in an agonizing display of wounded vanity.
I watched them go, pulling out my phone to dial a direct internal extension.
“Front desk,” a voice answered instantly.
May you like
“This is Maya Williams,” I said smoothly. “Flag the Williams reservation under corporate audit. Ensure no additional incidentals are billed to their personal cards, but route all primary folio charges directly to my personal executive account. And send up a bottle of our reserve 2012 vintage champagne to the Presidential Villa with a small note: Compliments of the warehouse worker.”
A soft chuckle came through the line. “Right away, Ms. Williams.”
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