Samuel felt something tighten in his chest.
He had come to see how employees behaved when management wasn't watching.
Instead, he was learning how management behaved when it thought nobody important was watching.
He had seen enough.
Samuel took out his phone.
Richard misread the movement immediately.
“Oh, now you're calling someone? What, your lawyer?”
Samuel looked at the screen.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Someone who needs to come here.”
He selected a contact.
When the call connected, his voice was calm.
“Michael, it's time.”
A pause followed.
“Bring the documents and the team.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael replied. “We're on our way.”
Samuel ended the call.
Richard folded his arms.
“Whoever you called isn't going to change anything.”
Samuel put the phone away.
“You may be right about one thing, Mr. Collins.”
Richard blinked.
“How do you know my name?”
Samuel ignored the question.
“Some things cannot be changed.”
The next twelve minutes would later become the most discussed twelve minutes in the Windsor Palace's history.
Richard returned to the lobby, convinced he had won.
Samuel remained near the curb.
Rebecca approached him quietly.
“Sir, are you all right?”
Samuel studied her face.
She was a woman in her early forties, with tired eyes and the careful expression of someone who had learned to measure every word around difficult people.
“I'm fine,” he said. “Are you?”
The question surprised her.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca glanced through the glass doors.
“It's been a difficult morning.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Eleven years.”
“Then you've seen this hotel change.”
She looked at him carefully.
“I have.”
“For the better?”
Rebecca hesitated.
Samuel didn't press her.
Instead, he asked, “What happened to the manager before Mr. Collins?”
“Mr. Whitaker retired.”
“Did the staff like him?”
“Very much.”
“Why?”
Rebecca's expression softened.
“He knew everybody's name. Not just the managers. Everybody. If a dishwasher's child graduated from school, he remembered. If a housekeeper's husband was sick, he asked how the family was doing.”
Samuel listened.
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was.”
Rebecca's voice became quiet.
“People used to enjoy coming to work.”
Samuel looked through the doors at the polished lobby.
“And now?”
Rebecca's eyes filled with something she quickly concealed.
“Now people are afraid of making mistakes.”
Samuel nodded.
“That must be exhausting.”
She gave a tired smile.
“You have no idea.”
“I might.”
Rebecca was about to ask what he meant when Richard appeared behind the glass doors.
His expression changed the moment he saw her speaking with Samuel.
He strode outside.
“Rebecca! What did I just tell you?”
She straightened.
“I was checking whether the gentleman needed assistance.”
“I told you to get rid of him!”
Samuel stepped between them, not aggressively but firmly.
“She was being courteous.”
Richard laughed.
“I don't need your opinion.”
“You seem to have plenty of opinions about other people.”
Richard pointed toward the street.
“That's enough. I'm calling security.”
“Go ahead.”
Something in Samuel's tone made Richard pause.
It was not a challenge.
It sounded almost like permission.
Richard reached for his phone.
Before he could dial, a black luxury SUV turned smoothly onto the street.
Its windows were dark, its paint polished to a mirror shine.
A second vehicle followed close behind.
Both stopped directly outside the Windsor Palace.
Richard immediately lowered his phone.
His attention shifted to the arriving vehicles.
He recognized the look of private executive transportation.
Two men in dark suits stepped out of the first SUV.
One opened the rear passenger door.
A tall man in his mid-forties emerged, carrying a leather portfolio.
His name was Michael Bennett.
Behind him came two members of the company's legal team and a senior operations executive.
Richard's posture transformed.
He smoothed his jacket, straightened his tie, and hurried toward the vehicle with a welcoming smile.
“Good morning, gentlemen! Welcome to the Windsor Palace. I'm Richard Collins, the general manager. How may I assist you?”
Michael looked at him without smiling.
“Richard Collins?”
“Yes, sir.”
Michael exchanged a brief glance with the woman beside him.
Then he looked beyond Richard.
“Where is Mr. Anderson?”
Richard frowned.
“Mr. Anderson?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry. Are you looking for a guest?”
Michael's expression remained unreadable.
“We're here to meet the owner.”
Richard gave a nervous chuckle.
“The owner? Well, ownership is handled through our corporate offices. If you have an appointment—”
Michael stepped past him.
His face changed when he saw Samuel standing near the curb.
“Good morning, Mr. Anderson.”
Samuel nodded.
“Morning, Michael.”
The two men shook hands.
Richard stared.
Michael's tone was respectful, familiar, and unmistakably deferential.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“I'm fine.”
“Would you like the car?”
“Not yet.”
Michael handed Samuel the leather portfolio.
“Everything you requested is here.”
Samuel opened it, examined the first page, and nodded.