Tab 1
Chapter 43
The elevator didn't hum. It rattled.
We were descending past the basement, past the foundation, into the guts of the city. The air grew stale, heavy with the scent of wet concrete and rust. It was the smell of a place that had been forgotten by the sun.
"The sub-basement was originally for the hotel's industrial laundry," Nathaniel said, checking his reflection in the polished metal doors. He straightened his tie. "Soundproof. Isolated. Perfect for storage."
"Storage," I repeated.
"Inventory management is key, Abel. You can't run a business if your product spoils."
The doors slid open with a grinding screech.
We stepped out onto a metal grate floor. Beneath us, dark water trickled through pipes that looked like exposed veins. The lighting was yellow and dim, buzzing with the erratic frequency of dying bulbs.
And there they were.
Along the far wall, where industrial washers used to stand, three cages had been welded into the concrete.
