Revelation by Katie Klein Page A

him. Another sigh. "I need coffee. Black and strong."
    The coffee is cool by the time I swallow the last sip, the caffeine already working its magic. I watch people passing windows, traipsing down sidewalks, traffic stopping and starting at intervals.
    There's no point finding another hotel. The Council wants me here. My work is here.
    You could go for a walk. Go shopping. Take a nap in the car, the voice in my head suggests. 
    "Can I get you anything else, or would you like your check?" the waiter asks.
    "Just the check."
    I reach for my wallet, remove my bank card. The waiter returns with a black leather folder. I open it, choke back shock at the price of a single cup of coffee, stick my card between the plastic anyway, and hand it back to him, trying not to think about how this hotel is going to destroy my bank account.
    I'll get a cheap room and only eat fast food. I'm sure there's a microwave. I can pick up a few things to heat up—save some money.
    Footsteps approach as I am lost in this thought.
    "Your receipt," the waiter says.
    And just behind him: "Mrs. Fleming, I sincerely apologize. We can have a room ready for you immediately."
    It's her. The manager.
    "What about the policy?"
    She laughs, the sound so light and cooperative it's almost shrill and unnatural. "We can certainly make an exception in this case. If you'll come to the front when you're ready, we'll get you checked right in."
    I watch her leave, knowing disbelief is painted across my face, because the waiter speaks: "I ran your card. The account is flagged VIP. She could lose her job for what she did," he explains.
    "Wow," I say, rising. "VIP, huh? I'll try not to hold that against her."
    An easy laugh. "Knowledge is power. Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Fleming."
    I grab my things and re-enter the lobby, where the manager stands behind her desk, waiting for me.
    She could lose her job over what she did.
    I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the truth is that I'm too fatigued to care.
    "What type of room are you interested in?" she asks. "The penthouse and presidential suites are booked, but I can offer you a smaller suite."
    "A regular room is fine. It's just me."
    "I'll put you in a room with a king bed. We won't charge for the upgrade."
    I force a smile. "Thank you."
    "How long do you plan to stay?"
    "I'm not sure," I confess. "Through the weekend, at least."
    "We'll put your card on file, but we won't charge until check-out. You're welcome, of course, to stay as long as you'd like."
    She hands me a receipt and my card, then a small envelope with a card key—room number printed on the outside. I study the bank card— my bank card.
    The account is flagged.
    Why is my bank card flagged VIP?
    A bellhop stands ready, waiting to take my suitcase.
    "Just a minute."
    I walk to the ATM tucked in the corner of the room and insert my card. I follow prompts, punch in my PIN.
    Account balance.
    Processing .
    And then a number, flashing across the screen.
    "Holy shit," I mutter, blood draining from my head, legs wobbling beneath my weight. I lean against the machine for support, blinking, trying to make sense of the figure. "Holy. Holy. Holy shit. There's no way."
    But there is a way.
    Carter must've linked our bank accounts when I wasn't paying attention. It's my account, but both of our names are on it, and in it: more money than I've seen in a lifetime.
    Jesus. Of course he'd pull something like this.
    There's no worrying about how I'll pay for the hotel. I could pay for a hundred nights at this hotel. A bubbly laugh builds inside my chest, hot tears prick my eyes.
    I hate him.
    I can't believe he did this.
    I can't believe how right he was.
    Leave it to Carter to find a way to take care of me, even after he's gone.
     
    *          *          *
     
    It's beautiful. A king-size bed, end tables, a bistro table and two chairs. Flat panel on the wall above the dresser. Minibar . Linens shaded in soft browns and other earth tones. I abandon my