The Penthouse Clue

Mochi burst into the hotel lobby, her breath ragged, her hands trembling. She made a beeline for the front desk, nearly stumbling as she reached it.

“Ira… call… 911,: she panted, clutching the counter for support.

Ira’s eyes widened. “Mochi? What happened? Are you okay? Did someone… did someone hurt you?”

Several guests in the lobby had turned their heads when Mochi ran to the front desk. Now, one man stepped forward, concern etched on his face.

“Is something wrong? Are we in danger?”

Mochi blinked at the sudden attention. Her heart was already racing, but now her stomach flipped with a new dread. Panic spreading in a place meant to feel safe.

She shook her head quickly. “No… no, sir. I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. Just… an internal matter.”

She flashed a shaky smile, then turned to Ira. She was looking at Mochi with concerned eyes.

Mochi didn’t want to create any unnecessary chaos, and retreated from the lobby, pushing through the staff hallway doors. Her mind reeled. She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.

Do I call? Or should I tell Mr. Fido first?

Despite the anxiety buzzing through her, her instincts pulled her towards her manager. Mr. Fido had always been kind. Surely, he’d know what to do.

 She found him in his office, seated at his desk, pen in hand, scribbling signatures on a stack of cheques. The moment she opened the door, he glanced up with a casual smile.

“Well, well,” he said lightly. “Here to tell me you’re finally taking a break?”

But his tone shifted as soon as he saw her face.

“Mochi?” He stood up frowning. “What’s wrong?”

She couldn’t speak at first. Her lungs still burned from the sprint, her mind struggling to find the right words.

“There’s blood,” she said finally. “On the penthouse floor. One of the rooms. A lot of it. Furniture’s overturned. Curtains ripped. And it looks like… like someone was dragged.”

Her voice cracked. “It’s bad, sir. I think something serious happened.”

Mr. Fido’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t look alarmed. Just… focused.

“Sit,” he said, pushing a bottle of water across the desk to her. “You did the right thing, coming to me.”

Mochi sank into the chair, uncapped the bottle, and took a long drink, eyes never leaving his face.

He turned to his computer and began typing. The soft clack of keys was the only sound in the room.

“Let’s see who stayed there last…” he muttered.

Then he stopped.

“Mr. Peter Radcliff.”

His tone had changed. Just slightly, but enough.

“Do you know him?” Mochi asked.

Mr. Fido hesitated. His jaw tensed.

“He’s… someone with a long-standing relationship with this hotel.”

Mochi’s heart sank. “But sir, the room… there’s blood. This can’t just be ignored.”

“I didn’t say we’re ignoring it,” Mr. Fido replied, but his voice was firmer now. More measured.
“This is a sensitive situation. Mr. Radcliff is… connected.”

“Connected?” Mochi echoed. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he clicked a few more times on the screen, then leaned back in his chair.

“We don’t need to involve the authorities. I’ll handle it from here.”

Her body tensed. “Sir! Someone might be hurt. Or worse. I really think…”

“Mochi.” His voice sharpened.

She froze. She had never heard Mr. Fido speak to her like that.

“I appreciate your concern. I do. But this is above your pay grade. Finish the penthouse floor, and then I want you to take the rest of the day off. In fact, I insist. Go home, rest. I’ll make sure you are compensated for the whole day.”

That kindness was still in his words, but not in his tone.

She stared at him, disbelief and confusion twisting in her chest.

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly, standing up.

“Thank you for the water.”

She turned and walked out of the office, her steps slow and heavy. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, her expression hardened.

Something was very wrong.

Mr. Fido was hiding something.

And she was going to find out what.