Chapter 13 - Keep Everyone In This Room
Moradi didn't raise his voice. He just looked at the door and said it.
"Lock it."
Guard One moved first. The deadbolt clicked, heavy and final, and the warm lamplight seemed to get smaller. The sconces buzzed faintly against the marble. I could hear my own breathing too loud in my apron.
Moradi held out his hand from the edge of the bed. He hadn't stood. His robe had slipped at the collar and his tattoos stood out dark against his pale throat.
"Phones," he said. "All of them. Now."
Guard One set his on the bedside table without arguing. Guard Two hesitated. His jaw worked and his gun was finally down at his side, but his fingers stayed tight around it.
"Mr. Moradi —" he started.
"Now," Moradi said.
Guard Two pulled his phone out slow and laid it next to the other one. I added mine. Three phones in a row beside the lamp. Mine showed a crack in the corner I hadn't noticed before. It felt strange to give it up, like I'd cut off my own hand.
Moradi nodded once toward Guard One. "You hold them. Nobody texts. Nobody steps out."
The room settled into that locked-in quiet. The gold mirror caught all four of us, trapped in the glass. I could see the slit in the headboard behind us, dark where the fabric hung open. I didn't look at it directly. I didn't need to.
"We can't just sit on this," Guard One said. His voice was low. "That tag needs to go on record."
Guard Two shook his head. "On record where? You call downstairs, it doesn't stay downstairs. It goes to the front desk, to the night manager, to whoever's listening on the radio."
I swallowed. My hands were cold despite the warm light. I'd been holding the evidence bag with my phone photos and that unsigned tag description in my head, turning it over and over.
I looked at Moradi. "I have an idea," I said. "Can I say it?"
He studied me for a second, then gave a short nod.
"We don't have to bring anyone up yet," I said. "But we can put the call on record. Building security. We tell them we found an unauthorized device in a guest headboard and we need a documented report with time and photos. No entry. Just the log."
Guard One straightened. "She's right. A logged call protects us. If that stuff in the bed is what I think — if someone asks later why we waited — we have proof we reported it when we found it."
"Proof of what?" Guard Two snapped. "That we let the housekeeper cut open a ten-thousand-dollar headboard? That we let her photograph it? You want dispatch recording that?"
His face had gone red under the stubble. He glanced at Moradi, then away. "Sir, you know how this works. Once you call, you don't control who shows up. Maintenance, management, cops. You wanted this contained."
"We wanted control," Guard One said. "Control means a paper trail."
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure the pearl earring trembled. I kept my voice even.
"If we don't call," I said, "that tag disappears. And then it's just my word. And my photos on a phone sitting on that table."
Guard Two stared at me. "You threatening us?"
"No," I said. "I'm trying to keep my job."
Moradi rubbed his face with his tattooed hand. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes, dark circles deeper in the lamplight. For a moment he looked like he might fall back on the pillows and sleep right there, locked door or not.
He looked at the three phones. Then at the slit in the headboard. Then at me.
"We make the call," he said.
Guard Two took a step forward. "Sir —"
Moradi cut him off with a look. "We make the call," he repeated, slower. "Documented. Time-stamped. Photos and tag described. But no entry. No one comes inside this room until I say so."
Silence. The bedside lamp hummed.
Guard One exhaled. "I'll do it. Speaker on. So we all hear."
Moradi nodded. He picked up Guard One's phone and handed it to him, like a judge handing over a gavel. "You do it. Say exactly what I tell you."
My knees felt weak with relief. I pressed my hand flat against my apron to steady it.
Guard One dialed. The ring sounded too loud in the marble room. One ring. Two. Guard Two stood rigid by the mirror, gun at his side, eyes fixed on the door like he expected someone to knock it down.
On the third ring, a voice answered, tinny and bored. "Building security, night desk."
Guard One looked at Moradi. Moradi mouthed the words, and Guard One repeated them steady.
"We need to log an incident. Suite — unauthorized hardware found inside bedroom furniture. Photographed. Do not send anyone up. Repeat, do not send anyone up yet. Log time of call."
I listened to the keyboard clicking on the other end. My breath caught. It was on record now. No taking it back.
The dispatcher asked for a name. Moradi shook his head once. Guard One said, "Log it under Moradi suite. We'll advise."
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When he hung up, nobody moved. The phone screen went dark on the bedside table. The door stayed locked. The devices in the headboard stayed untouched, red LEDs blinking faintly in the slit.
Help was coming, but not yet. We were still alone in that warm, locked room.
