Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER EVERYONE BLAMED FIRST
Julian Black arrived with two lawyers.
Roman hated the lawyers.
That made them probably useful.
Julian was thirty-three.
Six years younger than Roman.
Same father.
Different mothers.
And a lifetime of being introduced as:
Roman Black’s little brother.
He resented it.
Roman knew.
He had also spent years assuming resentment meant betrayal was eventually inevitable.
Dangerous shortcut.
Julian sat across from investigators.
“I didn't sabotage an elevator.”
Nina replied:
“We didn't say you did.”
“You were thinking it.”
Roman almost smiled.
Family trait.
Julian produced messages from Grant Mercer.
Two weeks earlier:
Take the Miami project. Stay there through December.
Then:
You don’t want to be in Chicago for the next board cycle.
Julian responded:
Why?
Grant:
Because Roman is becoming unpredictable.
Another:
If something happens, Adrian needs stability. Don’t complicate it.
Roman stared.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Julian laughed.
“Would you have listened?”
Silence.
That hurt because Roman knew the answer.
Probably not.
Julian continued.
“Every time I disagree with you, Grant tells you I’m jealous.”
“Adrian tells you I’m irresponsible.”
“And then you look at me like I’ve already committed the crime.”
Roman looked away.
Meera’s voice from the night before came back:
Adults laugh when they want a child’s certainty to feel ridiculous.
Apparently powerful families used more sophisticated versions.
Julian’s lawyers provided bank records.
Grant had offered him $5 million through an offshore investment arrangement if he moved to Miami permanently and waived interim-trust rights.
Julian refused.
“Why?”
Roman asked.
Julian stared at him.
“Because I don't want your chair.”
Then glanced at Roman’s actual chair.
Wrong phrase.
He winced.
“Sorry.”
Roman surprised himself by laughing.
First time in almost two days.
Julian continued:
“I want my own life.”
That sounded familiar.
Roman thought about Meera.
Single mother.
Night shift.
Childcare more expensive than rent.
A six-year-old sleeping in service corridors because the hotel had no overnight employee-care support.
Everyone near Roman seemed to want freedom from the systems around him.
Interesting.
Adrian Wolfe’s financial records provided the next break.
He had secretly borrowed $14 million after personal investments collapsed.
Grant knew.
Then North Meridian transferred money to companies servicing Adrian’s debt.
Motive.
But not whole plot.
Why kill Roman?
Because a casino expansion audit was due.
Roman had ordered independent review after revenue numbers stopped matching floor activity.
Adrian had been hiding losses and skimming vendor payments.
Grant had been running separate extortion and security kickback schemes.
Roman’s audit threatened both.
His death created:
Insurance liquidity.
Interim management authority.
Time to destroy evidence.
And a public explanation:
Tragic elevator accident in an aging tower.
Then Nina found the detail that made Roman’s blood run cold.
The elevator sabotage had been tested.
Three weeks earlier.
Empty car.
2:11 a.m.
A minor unexplained shutdown.
Maintenance report filed.
Who reported it?
Meera Collins.
Roman turned.
“You?”
Meera looked surprised.
“I heard a bang while cleaning the executive lounge.”
“You reported it?”
“To Trent.”
“What happened?”
“He said maintenance already knew.”
No follow-up.
Report marked resolved.
Again.
Grant and Adrian had not only known Evan might hear mechanical discrepancies.
They knew his mother had already reported one.
Trent’s role became clearer.
He buried reports.
Kept Meera and Evan away from service areas.
Provided temporary badges to fake contractors.
Was he mastermind?
No.
He cooperated quickly once confronted with the financial evidence.
Why?
Debt.
Again.
Trent had been stealing smaller amounts from hotel vendor accounts.
Grant discovered it and turned him into an accomplice.
Trent agreed to hide maintenance reports and open restricted areas.
Did he know Roman would be killed?
He claimed he knew there would be “a mechanical event.”
Investigators would decide how much that meant legally.
No clean innocence.
No unnecessary exaggeration.
Then Trent said something else.
“Grant told me the kid was a problem.”
Meera’s face changed.
“What does that mean?”
“He notices things.”
“Did Grant threaten him?”
“No.”
“At least not to me.”
Then:
“He told me to get you fired.”
Meera went still.
“When?”
“After your report three weeks ago.”
“Why wasn't I?”
Trent looked ashamed.
“Because nobody wanted your shift.”
The room went silent.
A single mother working the worst overnight schedule had accidentally become harder to remove because her job was undesirable.
Roman looked at Meera.
“How many nights do you bring Evan?”
Her expression closed.
“That isn't relevant.”
“It is now.”
“Why?”
“Because this should never have happened.”
She laughed once.
“What part?”
“That a six-year-old was in a mechanical corridor at three in the morning.”
Meera’s eyes sharpened.
“I know.”
Roman immediately understood he had said it wrong.
She continued:
“Do you think I wanted him there?”
“No.”
“Night childcare is $1,400 a month.”
“My take-home pay is barely three thousand.”
“His school program closes at six.”
“My sister helps when she can.”
“His father sends support when he remembers.”
“And this hotel schedules mandatory overnight shifts with forty-eight hours’ notice.”
Roman said nothing.
Meera’s voice softened, which somehow made it worse.
“I already know my child shouldn’t have been there.”
“I don't need the owner of the building explaining poverty logistics to me after the building almost killed him.”
Julian looked down.
Roman absorbed it.
Then:
“You're right.”
Meera blinked.
Apparently she had expected a fight.
Roman continued:
“The hotel created part of the problem.”
Not all.
But part.
Then Evan, drawing an elevator in the corner, looked up.
“Can I still visit Mr. Ortega?”
Everyone laughed.
Tension broke.
Ortega answered from across the room:
“Only if your mother says yes.”
Correct.
May you like
Choice.
Always returning there.
