A Wet Suitcase On Polished Marble
Rainwater dripped from the wheels of the battered suitcase as it rolled across the polished marble floor.
The elderly man pushed through the revolving glass doors, his soaked brown trench coat clinging to his frame.
Puddles formed beneath his shoes with every slow, measured step he took toward the central elevator bank.
From behind the mahogany front desk, a tall man in a tailored black suit straightened his collar.
He stepped out into the open lobby, his leather dress shoes clicking sharply against the tile.
He raised an outstretched finger, blocking the older man’s path directly in front of the elevator doors.
“Hey, stop dragging that wet bag through here,” the staff member said, his brow furrowed.
A Turn Toward The Exit
The older traveler paused, his hand gripping the wet plastic handle of his vintage case.
Water ran down the creases of his weathered face, dripping steadily from the edge of his grey beard.
“I have a room upstairs,” the older man said, his voice quiet against the lobby’s quiet murmur.
The man in the suit shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Not here you don’t,” the younger man replied, leaning forward to close the physical distance between them.
The older man pressed on, stepping sideways toward the gold-trimmed elevator doors. “My meeting is upstairs.”
“No,” the employee snapped, pointing an index finger toward the revolving entrance. “You are not wandering onto the penthouse floors.”
The older man looked down at the floor, his breath fogging slightly in the cooled air of the entryway. “Check my reservation.”
“I don’t need a screen to know,” the staff member replied. “Take the suitcase and leave.”
The Contents Of The Case
Instead of turning back toward the rain, the older man lowered the black suitcase flat against the clean floor.
His rain-soaked fingers unlatched the tarnished brass clasps on either side of the case.
He folded back the worn leather lid, reaching past folded denim into an inner side pocket.
His knuckles were tight as he pulled out a faded, sepia-toned photograph with bent corners.
He held the image up between two fingers, extending it outward toward the younger man’s chest.
The photo showed a young man in a sharp three-piece suit holding a pair of ceremonial scissors at a ribbon cutting.
The younger man looked down at the paper, his eyebrows twitching as he took the photograph into his own hands.
“That is you?” the staff member muttered, his eyes shifting from the faded print to the man standing before him.
The older man stood upright, his shoulders pulling back beneath the weight of his damp coat.
“I built this hotel,” he stated, his chin lifted toward the high chandelier overhead.
A Standing Confrontation
The employee shifted his weight backward, his fingers lowering the photo toward his side.
“Sir,” the staff member stammered, his posture shrinking as he clasped his hands in front of his waist. “I thought you needed shelter.”
“And that made you treat me like this?” the founder asked, stepping forward until the distance between them closed.
“Let me fix it,” the employee whispered, bowing his head slightly.
The founder pointed directly toward the long mahogany reception counter.
“Step away from the desk,” the founder told him. “Your conduct gets reviewed today.”
The founder walked past the elevator bank, leaving wet shoe prints leading deeper into the grand hall.
Behind him, the employee stood in place, bending at the waist in a deep, motionless bow as water pooled across the floor.
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