Chapter 7 - Why Karl Was Saving Screenshots
Patrick did not move.
Daniel’s face remained frozen on the laptop screen.
The sentence hung between us.
“Ask him what Karl gave him at 11:46 tonight.”
I looked at Patrick.
His face had changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
That was worse.
“What did Karl give you?”
Patrick stared at the floor.
“Patrick.”
He looked up.
“Nothing.”
I closed the laptop halfway.
“Try again.”
“I mean nothing important.”
“That is not the same answer.”
He rubbed both hands together.
His fingers were shaking.
At five o’clock that afternoon, I probably would have assumed he was afraid of losing his job.
Now I knew better.
People were rarely afraid of only one thing.
“What happened at 11:46?”
Patrick glanced toward Lily’s bedroom.
“She’s asleep?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his voice anyway.
“Karl came to the desk.”
“When?”
“A few minutes before midnight.”
“What did he want?”
“He told me Victor had ordered a manual reconciliation.”
“Of what?”
“Executive reservations.”
“Victor had already left this floor by then.”
“I know.”
“Did you call him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Patrick looked ashamed.
“Because Karl said Victor didn’t want anything documented.”
I almost laughed.
Every answer somehow made the night worse.
“And that didn’t concern you?”
“It did.”
“But?”
“He was my supervisor.”
There it was.
The most common sentence behind almost every bad decision in a company.
He was my supervisor.
She told me to.
That was the process.
I followed policy.
People often imagined corruption required dramatic villains.
Usually it required ordinary employees deciding obedience was safer than judgment.
“What did Karl give you?”
Patrick reached into his pocket.
Slowly.
I watched his hand.
He pulled out a small silver USB drive.
He placed it on the table.
“That.”
I stared at it.
“What’s on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You took an unknown drive from Karl and didn’t check?”
“He told me not to.”
I looked at him.
Patrick winced.
“Yes. I hear it now.”
“Why did he give it to you?”
“He said if tonight went wrong, I should keep it somewhere off property.”
My pulse changed.
“What does ‘went wrong’ mean?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What did you think it meant?”
Patrick hesitated.
“The gala.”
“Not me?”
“At first, no.”
“At first?”
“Then you arrived.”
I looked at the USB drive.
“What exactly did Karl say?”
Patrick closed his eyes briefly.
“He said, ‘If Vance stays, this place burns.’”
Silence.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“He said burns literally?”
Patrick shook his head quickly.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“He was angry. I assumed he meant the deal. The board. Victor.”
“And then he gave you this.”
“Yes.”
“Why you?”
“I don’t know.”
That was a lie.
Not a good one.
I could see it.
“Patrick.”
He looked away.
“Why you?”
“Because I’d been saving things.”
The answer came so quietly I almost missed it.
“What things?”
He sat down.
I stayed standing.
“Screenshots.”
“Of what?”
“The reservation system.”
Now the chapter title started to make sense.
“Why?”
“Because the notes kept changing.”
I stared at him.
“What notes?”
“The redirect codes.”
R1.
R2.
R3.
Single mother.
Bereavement.
Low appearance fit.
“When did you notice?”
“About six weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I did.”
“To who?”
“Karl.”
Of course.
“What happened?”
“He told me the system was updating.”
“Did you believe him?”
“For about a day.”
“What changed?”
“A guest came back.”
Patrick’s voice tightened.
“Which guest?”
“The older man Lupita mentioned.”
“The one who sat outside?”
“Yes.”
“He returned?”
“Three days later.”
“Why?”
“He wanted a receipt.”
“For what?”
“A room he never used.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
Patrick nodded.
“The system showed he had checked in.”
“But he was turned away.”
“I know.”
“Was the room charged?”
“Yes.”
“To him?”
“No.”
“Then to who?”
Patrick looked at me.
“A corporate master account.”
I went still.
“Which account?”
“North Bridge Strategy.”
The same company.
The consultancy tied to David.
The vendor Victor had approved.
Daniel’s ledger.
Everything kept circling the same name.
“What was the guest’s reservation number?”
Patrick gave it to me from memory.
That surprised me.
“You remember?”
“I started writing them down.”
“How many?”
“Seventeen.”
“Only seventeen?”
“That I could prove.”
He pulled out his phone.
He opened a hidden album.
Screenshots.
Dozens.
Reservation profiles.
Internal notes.
Time stamps.
Manual overrides.
Guest photographs.
Rate changes.
Inventory holds.
He scrolled.
I felt sick.
One screenshot showed a family reservation marked:
R3 — REDIRECT / HIGH BURDEN / LOW VALUE.
Another:
UNSUITABLE FOR PREMIUM LOBBY EXPOSURE.
Another:
ARRIVAL AFTER 8PM — HOLD OFF PROPERTY IF EXEC EVENTS ACTIVE.
Then one that made me stop.
A woman in her late sixties.
Green coat.
Cane visible.
Lupita’s guest.
Beside her name:
ADA REQUEST / LOW REV / DISPLACEMENT ACCEPTABLE.
I stared at the words.
Displacement acceptable.
As if a woman with mobility needs were luggage.
Patrick kept scrolling.
“Why were you saving these?”
“Because they changed after complaints.”
“How?”
“Notes disappeared.”
“Who removed them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have logs?”
“Some.”
He opened more screenshots.
Before.
After.
Original guest profile.
Then cleaned profile twenty-four hours later.
Redirect language gone.
Reservation marked:
GUEST-CANCELED.
“They made it look like the guests canceled themselves.”
Patrick nodded.
“How many?”
“Most of them.”
I felt anger move through me again.
Not loud.
Precise.
“Who taught you to take screenshots?”
“No one.”
“Then why?”
He looked at me.
“Because my father used to work in banking.”
I waited.
“He told me if a system keeps changing after someone complains, save the first version.”
That was the first intelligent thing anyone had taught Patrick all night.
“What did Karl know?”
“That I was saving things.”
“How?”
“I confronted him.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What happened?”
“He laughed.”
“What did he say?”
Patrick’s expression changed.
“He said I was smart enough to protect myself.”
That did not sound like a threat.
Not exactly.
“What else?”
“He said if anything happened, screenshots were insurance.”
“Insurance against whom?”
“He didn’t say.”
“But tonight he gave you a USB.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said screenshots weren’t enough.”
I looked at the laptop.
Daniel’s machine.
Then the USB.
Then Patrick.
The timing was too precise.
Daniel’s pre-recorded message somehow anticipated Patrick knocking with the laptop.
Not Patrick by name as a random event.
Patrick specifically.
Either Daniel had designed an incredibly elaborate contingency years earlier.
Or someone had altered the video.
“We need to verify the recording.”
Patrick nodded.
“I was thinking that.”
“Rachel.”
She was still connected.
“Yes?”
“Did you hear all of that?”
“Every word.”
“Can you authenticate Daniel’s video?”
“Not remotely with certainty.”
“What can you tell me?”
“The file creation date is old.”
“How old?”
“Three years, eight months.”
Before Daniel died.
My throat tightened.
“Modification date?”
“Tonight.”
There it was.
“So someone edited it.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What else changes modification time?”
“Copying, restoring, decrypting, moving through certain archive systems.”
“Can you prove the spoken content existed in the original?”
“I need the file.”
I looked at Patrick.
“Disconnect the laptop from hotel Wi-Fi.”
He did.
Rachel said:
“Do not connect the USB.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Patrick looked offended.
Then reconsidered.
“Actually, fair.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
I sat opposite him.
“Tell me everything Karl said.”
Patrick thought.
“He came to the desk angry.”
“Normal angry?”
“No.”
“What was different?”
“He kept checking the cameras.”
“Which cameras?”
“Lobby. Executive elevators.”
“Was he looking for me?”
“I thought so.”
“What did he ask?”
“Whether you were still upstairs.”
“Did you answer?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“I’m sorry.”
“Continue.”
“He asked whether Victor was with you.”
“What did you say?”
“That Victor had left.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Good.’”
“Then?”
“He asked whether David was still on property.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Then the USB?”
“Not immediately.”
Patrick looked toward the hallway.
“He made me open the guest profile archive.”
“Why?”
“He wanted proof that old versions still existed.”
“What old versions?”
“The ones before cleanup.”
My stomach tightened.
“He knew the notes had been changed?”
“Yes.”
“Then Karl wasn’t just enforcing the system.”
Patrick shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
That complicated everything.
“Karl humiliated guests.”
“Yes.”
“He trained employees to redirect them.”
“Yes.”
“He helped keep me off this floor.”
“Yes.”
“But he also told you to preserve evidence?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
Maybe it did.
People were not always cleanly guilty or innocent.
Sometimes they participated until they realized someone above them planned to leave them holding the evidence.
“What exactly did Karl say before giving you the drive?”
Patrick closed his eyes.
Then repeated it carefully.
“‘If I disappear, give this to somebody who can’t be bought.’”
I looked at him.
“And you chose me?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“Who?”
“He told me Lupita.”
Lupita.
Of course.
The woman people did not notice.
The woman who saw hallways.
The woman who remembered guests.
“Why didn’t you give it to her?”
“I couldn’t find her.”
“She was with me.”
“I know that now.”
“Then why bring it here?”
Patrick looked at the laptop.
“Because this was outside your door.”
“Who placed it there?”
“I didn’t see.”
“Cameras?”
“I checked.”
“And?”
“Hallway feed cut at 12:59.”
“How long?”
“Four minutes.”
Hotel security again.
“Who had access?”
“Too many people.”
I leaned back.
This was becoming a pattern.
Too many credentials.
Too many doors.
Too many people who could plausibly say:
Not me.
I looked at Daniel’s laptop.
“Play the rest of the video.”
Patrick hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
I opened it anyway.
Daniel appeared again.
Same office.
Same dark blue shirt.
Same tired eyes.
I remembered that shirt.
He wore it during treatments because it was soft and buttoned easily over the port in his chest.
My heart hurt in a way anger could not protect.
Daniel looked into the camera.
“If Patrick brought you the laptop, then someone chose him as a courier.”
Patrick went pale again.
Daniel continued.
“He may not know that.”
I looked at Patrick.
He swallowed.
“Comforting.”
Daniel kept talking.
“Do not confuse participation with knowledge. The person at the bottom of a chain usually knows the least and carries the most visible guilt.”
I thought of Patrick turning me away.
Then Lupita helping me.
Daniel’s voice continued.
“The screenshots matter because the optimization system was designed to clean its own records.”
Rachel interrupted through my phone.
“That’s possible.”
I held up one finger.
Daniel continued.
“Original classifications are overwritten after a service event closes. If someone preserved first-state screens, they preserved evidence the database may no longer show.”
Patrick stared at his phone.
His screenshots.
He had unknowingly done exactly what Daniel would have wanted.
Then Daniel said:
“If Karl is still involved, do not assume he is protecting the people above him.”
Patrick whispered:
“What?”
Daniel continued.
“Karl Meyer joined the Grand Regent before Vance acquired it.”
I turned toward Patrick.
“Did you know that?”
“No.”
“He did?”
Daniel answered from three years earlier.
“He was a junior revenue analyst then.”
I felt cold.
The old system.
The original project.
Karl had been there.
Daniel continued.
“Karl found irregular guest classifications during acquisition review. He brought them to Thomas Bell.”
Patrick whispered:
“So Karl exposed it?”
“Once,” I said.
Daniel continued.
“Then he changed his mind.”
That sentence changed the room.
Daniel leaned closer.
“I never learned why.”
The video froze.
Not ended.
Frozen.
Rachel spoke.
“Clara?”
“What happened?”
“File error.”
Patrick tapped the trackpad.
Nothing.
Then the screen changed.
A folder opened automatically.
Inside were twelve image files.
Screenshots.
Old ones.
Years old.
Guest scoring screens from before we owned the Grand Regent.
Karl’s name appeared in the audit bar.
So did Thomas Bell’s.
And one more name.
D. SHORE
David.
My pulse slowed.
“He was in the system before he joined our board.”
Rachel said:
“That shouldn’t be possible.”
“What was David doing then?”
“Give me a minute.”
Keys clicked.
Patrick stared at the old screenshots.
One had a note in the margin.
KARL — SAVE ORIGINAL STATE. DO NOT TRUST EXPORT.
Signed:
D.V.
Daniel.
So Daniel had instructed Karl to save screenshots years ago.
That explained the habit.
Maybe Karl had never stopped.
Patrick whispered:
“Then why did he enforce the program now?”
I didn’t know.
I looked at the USB.
Maybe that answer was inside.
Rachel returned.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“David Shore consulted for the Grand Regent’s previous ownership group.”
My hand tightened.
“When?”
“Six years before he joined your board.”
“Through what company?”
Silence.
I already knew.
“North Bridge Strategy?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not recent.
Not accidental.
David’s connection went back years.
“Then Daniel knew David was involved.”
“Maybe not by full name. The archived invoices use D. Shore.”
“But Daniel had the screenshots.”
“Yes.”
“Why put him on our board later?”
Rachel went quiet.
That question hurt.
Daniel was careful.
Painfully careful.
If he had known David helped build a system he despised, he never would have allowed him near our company.
Unless Daniel did not know D. Shore was David.
Or unless something else had happened.
Patrick stared at the USB.
“We should open it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Karl wanted it off property. That means he assumed someone might search hotel devices.”
“So?”
“So we use a clean machine.”
Rachel agreed.
“Absolutely.”
I stood.
“We need Lupita.”
Patrick looked at the clock.
1:42 a.m.
“I can call her.”
He did.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
My stomach tightened.
“She left with Monica.”
“Yes.”
“Call Monica.”
He did.
This time someone answered.
Patrick’s face changed.
“What?”
He lowered the phone.
“It’s not Monica.”
“Who is it?”
Patrick put the call on speaker.
A male voice said:
“Front desk?”
Nobody spoke.
The man continued.
“This is Chicago Police. We found this phone in the alley behind the Grand Regent.”
My blood went cold.
“Where is the woman who had it?”
“Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Clara Vance.”
A pause.
“Ms. Vance, we need you downstairs.”
“Why?”
“We have an employee here.”
My chest tightened.
“Who?”
The officer hesitated.
“Lupita Alvarez.”
I grabbed my jacket.
Patrick was already moving.
Then the officer added:
“And we found something in her coat pocket.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“A silver USB drive.”
Patrick slowly looked at the one still lying on my table.
May you like
Neither of us breathed.
There were two.
Related Stories
