My daughter texted me from the restaurant kitchen, terrified: “Mom, the new manager’s accusing me of stealing cash! He’s calling the police!” I typed back: “Is he wearing a blue suit?” — “Yes.” I replied, “Lock yourself in the storage room. I’m coming.” I didn’t call my husband. I simply stood up from the dinner table—where I’d been sitting as a mystery customer for an inspection.

From the silent, climate-controlled sanctuary of The Grand Imperial Hotel’s penthouse suite—known to the select few on staff as “The Vance Residence”—I observed my kingdom. It was a kingdom my father had built, not of stone and mortar, but of reputation and impeccable service. He used to say, “Anna, the details are the soul of the business. Anyone can offer a bed; we offer an experience.” Now, that soul was mine to protect.

My quarry tonight was the new Night Manager of our flagship restaurant, Aurum, a man named Michael Peterson. I had been watching him for two nights, and my assessment was grim. He was a predator who masqueraded as a manager, preying on the young, the inexperienced, and anyone he perceived as weaker than himself.