Sophie fell back asleep the moment I laid her on the bed in Suite 1207. I put the roses in a water glass and opened my laptop. As owner, I could see every room in the building. The front desk had told me we were completely sold out. My screen said twenty-three rooms were empty.

But the housekeeping system showed those same twenty-three rooms with active keycards, sheets changed, minibars emptied, and not a single guest name attached to any of them. At 6:10 a.m., someone knocked softly on my door. It was Marisol, still in her uniform, holding a thick folder against her chest. She looked over her shoulder twice before she spoke. “Ma’am, I’ve been keeping this for eight months,” she whispered. “Nobody would listen. And I think tonight they finally figured out I know.”