“Well, I’m hoping something works out with that interview. Moving to Vegas would be good for you.”
Carly chuckled. “Yeah, me and Sin City. If I do get the job, the next time I go home, Aunt Ruthie is sure to pray all over me.” Ruth Briggs was the grand-aunt who’d raised her since she was a baby.
Heather threw her head back and laughed. “Yes, I can see your aunt doing that.”
Carly bade Heather good-night and made her way to her bedroom. Without Heather to distract her, her thoughts shifted back to what she’d heard through the vent earlier that evening.
She had checked the alley for victims. She’d given the police a tip. There was really nothing more she could do. First thing in the morning she would check the newspapers to see if anything was mentioned. If not, she would no longer lose sleep wondering what did or did not happen in the alley.
One week later
In the middle of the night, four men gathered in an empty warehouse near the Miami Beach marina. Even through the steel walls, the sound of waves, remnants of last week’s tropical storm, beat against the sides of the boats docked outside.
“Why was this meeting called, Palmer?” The man’s voice was deep, authoritarian and annoyed. “I thought we wouldn’t meet again until—”
“Some woman called the tip line about Harrison. Wouldn’t give a lot of information, only said she thought someone had been killed in the alley,” Palmer said. “I heard the tip but couldn’t trace the call.”
The room quieted and all gazes turned to another of the men, Addison Bracey. “I got the word earlier today from our inside man. Luckily, he intercepted the tip. He went out himself to make sure you didn’t get clumsy that night, Nash. I wish nothing had been done with Harrison until I got back from Chicago.”
There was a snort and Nash’s deep, raspy voice said, “Couldn’t wait when we found out he was a traitor. I handled it, and I didn’t get clumsy.”
“With no evidence left behind, right, Nash?” the deep authoritarian voice asked.
“No evidence was left behind,” Magnus Nash agreed. “Like I said, the problem was taken care of.”
“And the person who called the tip line?” the authoritarian voice asked.
“No one was in the alley that night, I’d swear it. But if there’s a loose end, I’ll take care of it,” Nash said haughtily.
The others were quiet until the man with the deep voice said, “Make sure that you do. My concentration needs to be on expanding the business, not on taking care of traitors. That’s your job. This meeting is adjourned.”
Chapter 1
Four months later
Lee Madaris glanced at the clock on his wall before rubbing away the tension forming in the back of his neck. Although it was nearing midnight, he was still in his office working. It was imperative that he do so.
Five potential investors would be arriving tomorrow and spending four days at the Grand MD Vegas hotel. He would be catering to them at a level that was unprecedented. The five men had enough cumulative capital to balance the national budget, if they’d chosen to do so. However, balancing the national budget wasn’t Lee’s goal. His objective was to get them to invest in his next hotel—the Grand MD Paris.
After the success of the Grand MD Dubai, as well as all the attention the hotel in Vegas had received since opening its doors four months ago, a number of investors were ready to provide funds for his next venture. But he didn’t want just anyone; he wanted men willing to take a chance on a hotel that would be astonishingly different from its two predecessors. It would be a hotel of the future.
Both Grand MD hotels had been Madaris–Di Meglio joint ventures—highly successful and breaking sales records. But the third hotel, the one planned for Paris, France, would use state-of-the-art technology while maintaining the rich architectural design Paris was known for.
Lee’s cousin and the architect in the family, Slade Madaris, had designed the first two Grand MDs and would likewise design the one proposed for Paris. Slade’s design was nothing short of a masterpiece and would be unveiled at one of the meetings this week. Slade’s twin brother, Blade, would be the structural engineer. No two Grand MD hotels would look the same. Each would have its own unique architecture and appeal.
Pulling in a deep breath, Lee returned his attention to the documents in front of him—bios on the five men. The name that topped the list was that of his grand-uncle Jake Madaris. Lee didn’t need to read his uncle’s bio.
The man was a walking genius when it came to playing the stock market, and as far back as Lee could remember, Jake had been financial adviser to the entire Madaris family. If it hadn’t been for his uncle’s smart move of establishing a trust fund for all his nieces and nephews when they were still in high school, Lee would not have had the money to partner with his good friend DeAngelo Di Meglio to build their first two hotels.
Jake and another family friend, Mitch Farrell, had been the hotels’ financial backers. Mitch—the second man on the list—and Jake had already confirmed they were on board for the Paris hotel since the last two hotels had been a successful venture for them.
However, the price tag for a Paris hotel was higher than the price of the other two combined, and Jake had suggested bringing in other investors. All were good friends of Jake’s, but his uncle had warned Lee that convincing them to invest would be Lee’s responsibility.
He was ready.
The third person on the list was Kyle Garwood, a multimillionaire who made his primary home in Atlanta. Kyle was married, the father of six. Lee liked Kyle and highly respected him.
The last two men were sheikhs from the Middle East. Sheikh Rasheed Valdemon of Mowaiti had such a close relationship with the Madaris family that he had been named an honorary family member and occasionally went by the name of Monty Madaris when he did business in the United States.
Finally, there was Rasheed’s brother-in-law, Sheikh Jamal Ari Yasir of Tahran. Lee had never met Sheikh Yasir but had heard he was a shrewd businessman, always looking for a good investment. He was married to an American woman, the former Delaney Westmoreland.
Lee would be wining and dining the five men in the Grand MD style. Everything was in place and would be set in motion as soon as they arrived tomorrow morning.
Their visit had been strategically planned down to the last detail. They would be given a tour of the hotel before they were served lunch. Since tomorrow was a traveling day, no meetings had been planned. However, early the following day, Lee’s skilled marketing team would kick things off with several video presentations and meetings. Around three, the men and their wives would be given the chance to rest and relax before a dinner fit for royalty.
Afterward, they would enjoy the nightlife Vegas was famous for—from right inside the Grand MD. The casinos, live shows, state-of-the-art IMAX theater and the exquisite mall on the fifth floor that offered twenty-four-hour shopping all guaranteed that the Grand MD would gain a reputation as the hotel that never closed.
A winning hotel had to have a winning staff. He and Angelo had handpicked all of his executives and managers. Each had hotel experience and had come with sterling résumés and excellent recommendations. He and Angelo were pleased with every staff member, and those who didn’t deliver were quickly replaced. Second-best was not an option at the Grand MD.
Lee moved away from his desk, intending to walk around and get his blood flowing, but the moment he stepped into the executive suite’s lobby he stopped to stare at the huge picture hanging on the wall. It was a portrait of his great-grandmother Felicia Laverne Madaris the First, whom they fondly called Mama Laverne.
She was the matriarch of the