None of them had ever asked what I actually did in tech support.
They just assumed.
“The reservation desk is this way,” Dererick said, gesturing. “You should check in before the evening events start. And Sophie, maybe see if they have a house phone you can use to call that holiday in. I’m serious about this. You can’t afford to be here.”
We approached the gleaming check-in desk where three staff members worked efficiently. I recognized all of them, Martin, Elena, and James. They’d been with the hotel since opening day.
“Reservation under Sophie Chin,” I said to Elena.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard and I watched her eyes widen slightly.
“Yes, Miss Chin, we have you in the penthouse suite.”
The silence behind me was deafening.
“The penthouse suite?” Dererick’s voice cracked slightly. “That’s that’s the most expensive accommodation in the hotel.”
“$5,000 per night?” Amanda whispered. “I looked at it for our honeymoon, but even Derek couldn’t justify it.”
Elena maintained her professional composure.
“Miss Chin, your suite is ready. We’ve stocked it according to your preferences. Sparkling water, Earl Grey tea, fresh orchids. Is there anything else you need?”
“That will be fine, thank you.”
“There’s been a mistake,” my mother interjected. “My daughter couldn’t possibly afford the penthouse suite. Perhaps you’ve confused her with another guest.”
Elena glanced at me, a question in her eyes. I gave her a slight nod.
“No mistake, ma’am. Miss Sophie Chin, penthouse suite. Five nights, all amenities included.”
“Five nights.”
Marcus’s voice squeaked.
“That’s $25,000. Sophie, what have you done?”
My mother’s hand flew to her chest.
“Have you stolen someone’s identity? Is this fraud?”
“I haven’t stolen anything,” I said calmly.
“Then how?” Derek sputtered. “Tech support doesn’t pay that kind of money. Even senior positions cap out at what? 70,000 a year. You couldn’t afford one night here, let alone five.”
“Maybe she has a sugar daddy,” Amanda suggested, then covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You absolutely should not have,” I agreed, my voice still level.
A distinguished man in his late 50s approached the desk. Charles Morrison, my general manager. He’d run five-star hotels around the world before I’d recruited him three years ago with an offer he couldn’t refuse.
“Good evening,” he said with a warm smile. “Miss Chin, wonderful to see you. I trust your drive was pleasant.”
“It was. Thank you, Charles.”
“Charles. Charles.”
Derek looked between us.
“You’re on a firstname basis with the general manager.”
“Miss Chin is one of our most valued guests,” Charles said smoothly. “We’re always delighted when she stays with us.”
“But she’s here every Christmas,” my mother protested. “You’re saying she stays here every year in the penthouse.”
“Among other times,” Charles confirmed. “Miss Chin has excellent taste in accommodations.”
“This is insane.”
Derek turned to me.
“Sophie, you need to explain what’s going on. Have you been embezzling, taking out massive loans? Because there’s no legitimate way you can afford this lifestyle.”
“Derek, I think you should lower your voice,” I said quietly. “You’re creating a scene.”
“I’ll create whatever I want. You show up here pretending to afford luxury accommodations while the rest of us work honestly for our money.”
“Honestly?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You inherited dad’s business, Derek. You didn’t build it.”
His face reened.
“I’ve grown it. I’ve doubled revenue in 5 years.”