The manager glanced at Davis and took a deep breath, meeting his gaze head-on.
"I’m not playing any games," he muttered.
"Alright then," Davis said coolly. "What happened to the Angela Wear fitting room?"
The manager stared at him a tinge of irritation flickering in his eyes. "Does my job include looking after some bunch of clothes?" he asked back.
"Davis nodded slightly. "I see. But tell me... do you have any idea what the consequences of sabotaging that function are?"
"Function? Sabotage? It’s not my business. I only manage this hotel and nothing more," he retorted.
Davis looked at him calmly for a while, he carefully analyzed the young man’s countenance. A cold smirk curling up his lips as he noticed the manager’s subtle aversion to the matter.
"Alright, I’ve changed my mind," Davis snapped.
The managers head snapped towards him, his brow furrowed. "Changed mind? Aren’t we going to the surveillance room?"He asked, visibly confused.
He couldn’t read Davis. There was something unnerving about his sudden shift, as though a different kind of game had just begun.
The manager studied him for a while, his clenched fists slowly relaxing though he couldn’t identify the medicine Davis sold in his gourd.
But it’s all for the good. At least he wouldn’t have to be taking a further risk.
Taking a deep breath, he gave a curt nod. "Let’s go back, then. He said with a forced smirk.
You lead the way," Davis replied and followed behind.
As they reached the hallway to his suite, the manager’s mind spun with possibilities. Why had Davis pulled back? What was he planning?
Davis’s lips curled into a cold smirk as he quietly observed his furrowing countenance.
As they arrived at the door, Davis stepped forward beside him and gently patted the manager’s back.
"I’ll contact you later," he said coldly, pushing open the door and disappearing inside.
The door clicked shut.
Inside, Davis turned to Ethan. "Are we connected?"
Ethan gave a nod. Davis returned to his seat, picked up his laptop, and tapped the screen. It lit up instantly.
"Get some men. I want them stationed on the floor below ours for a proper investigation carried out ," Davis ordered.
"The floor below?" Ethan asked, surprised.
"Yes." Davis inhaled deeply, eyes narrowed in thought. "From the start, I had a hunch they might move it there. It’s easier to transport things out of the hotel from that level."
He pointed at the screen. "Our entire floor is booked. If they had moved it upward, we would’ve likely intercepted them at the first point. But moving it downward? That’s smarter."
Ethan listened intently as Davis continued.
"Also, did you notice the mess in the fitting room? The disarray suggested a hurried operation. While I walked with the manager, I saw a large dent at the end of the hallway—paint scraped off. That route was likely used."
He tapped a file on the screen.
"The building schematics show that the surveillance room is on the second floor. So why did he lead me elsewhere?"
"Ethan’s eyes widened slightly. "You think he’s involved?"
"He is," Davis said. "But I’m not sure about Frank yet. I need more time."
Without wasting time, Ethan called a trusted security member and relayed all the details of the investigation.
After Davis went into his suite, the manager stood still outside Davis’s suite, he took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the closed door for a while, his chest tightening with unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Davis’s actions weren’t right.
His mind churned with thoughts and a possible worst-case scenario.
Something wasn’t right.
"What is he planning to do?"
"No, my cover can’t be blown. I’m not ready to lose my job nor my family."
He couldn’t afford exposure. Not now.
Taking out his phone, he quickly dialed out. "Miss, I think there’s a problem."
"If there is a problem, then you solve it. That’s why you are the manager,"A cold, sarcastic voice filtered over, freezing him to the spot.
"I know. I had done all you requested, but another person has stepped into the picture," he explained, his frustration boiling over.
"Who was that?" the lady asked, her voice strained with tension, a deep sense of dread spilling through her voice.
The other end of the phone fell into a heavy silence, and The seconds stretched unnaturally long, while the manager was waiting for a response, the beeping sound of the phone echoed in his ears as the call ended.
Quietly, he pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at the phone, he blinked in confusion. This was far from his expectations.
That wasn’t the response he expected. If anything, it made his anxiety worse.
He couldn’t help but imagine what the situation might be turning into.
Davis and Ethan exchanged glances as they listened to the conversation playing from the hidden device Davis had slipped into the manager’s pocket during that casual pat on the back.
The manager, unaware of his conversation already recorded, paced the hallway anxiously, his fist clenching by the side.
From the laptop screen, they listened to his anxious step, as they drew one conclusion: he is clearly disturbed.
When Davis was planning on implementing his set plan. The manager dialed another number. "When are you planning on moving these items?"
"You contact Miss for every detail of the work."
"She isn’t saying anything, and at the moment, I can’t guarantee a safe execution of the plan."
"If it isn’t guaranteed, then you have yourself to blame."
The reply was so curt, so final, that the manager looked like the walls were closing in on him. His shoulders slumped. His eyes darted toward the hallway, then to his phone.
He was losing control and he knew it. Pressing the tightness of his brows, he dialed the number again. It was picked after a few rings.
He was losing control, and he knew it. Pressing the tightness of his brows, he dialed the number again. It was picked after a few rings.
"What is the problem?" the voice asked again.
"Miss, aren’t you..." he began.
"The plan continues... I’ve already dispatched someone to help you handle the moving. I don’t want any mistakes.
"Angela’s Wear show must be wrecked. Davis is just a pauper trying to reclaim the Allen Group. At the moment..." she paused slightly, "he isn’t my match."