Chapter 6 6

Breakfast at the Stafford estate was a military operation disguised as a meal. Silver platters of eggs, fruit, and pastries were laid out, but the conversation was strictly business.

Isam sat at the head of the table, reading the Financial Times. "Oil futures are down," he commented without looking up.

Kiley was already halfway through the hotel dossier. She had a notebook open, scribbling furiously.

"The branding is schizophrenic," she said, taking a bite of toast. "The hotel tries to be a business hub during the week and a party venue on weekends. The staff is burnt out from the transition. And the reviews... God, the reviews are awful. 'Rude staff,' 'Dirty rooms,' 'Noise complaints.'"

Isam lowered his paper. "Observation is easy, Kiley. Execution is hard. That hotel is currently run by Vice President Goss. He's a snake. He's been there for twenty years. He knows where all the bodies are buried."

"Goss," Kiley tapped the name in the file. "He's the one who signed the vendor contracts?"

"Yes," Bradley said, pouring coffee. "Why?"

"Because," Kiley's eyes narrowed behind her reading glasses. "He's paying 40% above market rate for linens. And 30% above for furniture. And guess who the furniture supplier is?"

She turned the binder around so they could see the invoice.

Vincent Home Furnishings.

Keegan choked on his orange juice. "Vincent? As in Adda Vincent's family?"

"The very same," Kiley said coldly. "They make cheap, particle-board furniture and sell it as solid oak. Goss is buying trash at premium prices and taking a kickback. And Evertt... Evertt facilitates the deal through Baker Corp logistics."

The room went silent.

"So," Bradley said, his voice dropping an octave. "They are stealing from us."

"They are stealing from my grandfather's legacy," Kiley corrected. She stood up. "I'm going to cut off the head of the snake."

"You can't go looking like that," Isam said, gesturing to her. "You look too... soft. Too much like the girl who baked cookies."

Kiley nodded. She walked over to the sideboard and opened a small, black case she had brought downstairs. Inside were a pair of high-grade Japanese styling shears-tools she hadn't used in years but still kept sharp. She walked to the mirror on the wall.

"Kiley, wait," Bradley started to stand.

Kiley didn't hesitate. She sectioned her long, chestnut hair-the hair Evertt used to say he liked long because it was "feminine." With the precision of a surgeon, she began to cut. The blades snicked rhythmically. Clumps of hair fell to the floor, severing her connection to the past. Within minutes, her soft waves were gone, replaced by a sharp, angular bob that framed her jawline like a helmet.

She dropped the shears. She ran her hands through the jagged, shoulder-length bob. It looked edgy. Sharp. Dangerous.

"Liam," she called out to the shadow in the corner where her father's assistant stood.

Liam Vance, a man who looked like he was carved out of granite and dressed by Tom Ford, stepped forward. "Yes, Miss Stafford?"

"Get me a pair of non-prescription glasses. Thick black frames. And a suit. Not a dress. A suit."

"Consider it done," Liam bowed.

Meanwhile, in the glass tower of Baker Corporation.

Evertt sat in his office, rubbing his temples. The quarterly reports were a disaster.

"Why are our margins down?" he asked Amos.

"The logistics division is hurting, sir," Amos said nervously. "And... the KS Hotel contract is up for renewal. The new General Manager is stalling."

"Stalling?" Evertt frowned. "Goss usually rubber-stamps it. Who is the new GM?"

"No name released yet. Just 'Stafford Management.' They are ghosting us."

Evertt slammed his hand on the desk. "I don't have time for games. That contract is worth three million a year. If we lose it, the board will have my head, especially after the divorce settlement news."

He stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Get the car. We're going to the hotel. I'm going to meet this new manager personally. Everyone has a price."

Back at the estate, Kiley put on the black-rimmed glasses Liam handed her. She looked in the mirror. The woman staring back wasn't Kiley Baker. She wasn't even the old Kiley Stafford.

She was someone new. Someone who didn't cry.

"Game on, Evertt," she whispered.