But my husband always told me that a person's character is revealed by how they treat people who have nothing to offer them.
I am writing because something happened at one of your hotels that I cannot forget.
My husband, Samuel, and I were married for fifty-two years.
Every year on our anniversary, we tried to do something special, even when money was tight.
Sometimes it was dinner at a small restaurant. Sometimes it was a drive through the countryside. Sometimes it was simply sitting on our porch and remembering the life we had built together.
Before Samuel passed away, he made me promise that I would continue celebrating our anniversary.
He said love doesn't disappear just because one person goes ahead of the other.
This year would have been our fifty-third anniversary.
I saved money from my pension for nearly eight months so I could spend one night at the Grand Wellington Hotel.
Samuel always admired that beautiful building whenever we drove through the city.
He used to joke that one day he would take me inside and treat me like a queen.
We never had enough money to do it while he was alive.
So I decided to go there for him.
I wore the blue dress he bought me for our fortieth anniversary.
I carried his photograph in my handbag.
And I brought the little silver necklace he gave me when we were young.
But when I arrived, the woman at the reception desk looked at my clothes and told me that the hotel was not suitable for someone like me.
She said I must have confused it with a cheaper place.
When I explained that I had saved for a room, she laughed.
She told me that the Grand Wellington was for distinguished guests.
I asked whether I could at least sit in the lobby for a few minutes because my legs were hurting.
She told me that the seating was reserved for hotel customers.
I left without arguing.
I sat on a bench outside and cried.
I am not writing because I want money or an apology.
I am writing because I hope you will remind your employees that an old woman in a simple dress can have just as much love, dignity, and worth as someone wearing diamonds.
Sincerely,
Margaret Ellis.
Marcus read the letter twice.
Then he set it down.
For several moments, he said nothing.
Evelyn watched him carefully.
She recognized the expression on his face.
It was not anger.
It was something deeper.
"Do we know whether she actually had a reservation?" Marcus asked.
Evelyn nodded.
"I checked. She attempted to book a room at the front desk. We had availability that evening."
Marcus looked toward the windows overlooking Manhattan.
"And she was turned away?"
"According to her letter."
"Did she complain to the hotel?"
"She did."
"What happened?"
Evelyn hesitated.
"The complaint was closed."
Marcus turned.
"Closed?"
"The response said the guest had misunderstood the hotel's room availability policy."
Marcus looked back at the letter.
"Misunderstood."
He repeated the word slowly.
"Who handled the complaint?"
"A front desk supervisor named Vanessa Whitmore."
Marcus leaned back in his chair.
"Interesting."
Evelyn waited.
"Pull every guest complaint involving that employee from the last two years."
"I already started."
Marcus looked at her.
A faint smile crossed his face.
"That's why I keep you around."
Evelyn finally smiled.
"I thought it was my charming personality."
"That too."
But the humor disappeared almost immediately.
Marcus picked up Margaret's letter again.
"Find out where she lives."
Evelyn nodded.
"And arrange for me to visit the Grand Wellington."
"Should I notify the general manager?"
Marcus shook his head.
"No."
"Marcus..."
"I want to arrive as an ordinary guest."
Evelyn studied him.
"You know what might happen."
"That's exactly what I need to find out."
He folded the letter carefully.
"If Margaret's experience was an isolated incident, we'll address it. But if it's part of something larger, I want to see it with my own eyes."
Evelyn understood.
She had watched Marcus conduct surprise visits before.
He believed that the best way to evaluate a hotel was to experience it without special treatment.
Sometimes he arrived wearing jeans and carrying his own luggage.
Sometimes he ate breakfast among the guests and listened to conversations.