The Rochefort hotel on Calloway was quiet in the late afternoon.
Arianne had been here before — business meetings, investor dinners, the occasional overnight when work ran too long and the drive home felt insurmountable. She'd never come to visit a guest. She'd certainly never come to visit a guest who'd been staying for nearly two weeks, whose room was being paid for by the company, whose presence here was a direct result of Arianne's intervention.
She took the elevator to the eighth floor. The hallway was carpeted in muted gray, the doors spaced far apart, the kind of discretion that came with a certain price point. Room 812. She knocked.
Angelika opened the door.
