Maluck knew he was going to start planning a heist—insert heist music here—dun-dun-duh-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun heist, dun-dun-dun.

  But first, he had things to take care of that afternoon, namely his two new recruits, Jamal and Mike. He had a pretty good idea of what their potential was. Mike was obviously a lawyer just waiting to explode onto the scene. But Jamal? He still had to make sure.

  He invited them both to the hotel, and they arrived on time. The catch? He hadn’t told them what room he was in—just told them to find their way up.

  Jamal, of course, took this as a challenge. He was already at the front desk, chatting up the receptionist. This was a five-star hotel, so guest privacy was a big deal. But Maluck had no doubt that by the time the elevator doors opened, Jamal would have figured out exactly where to go.

  ***

  Jamal leaned casually against the front desk, flashing the hotel receptionist a smile that could probably charm a snake out of its skin. His whole stance was relaxed, easy—like he belonged here, even though his clothes screamed new money in a way that only someone who just got a car from a charity could. His sneakers were brand new, but the laces were still factory-tied. His watch was flashy, but if you squinted, you could tell it wasn’t even set to the right time. And his shirt? Expensive, but the tags had clearly just come off.

  Maluck had given them both 10k as a signing bonus.

  The receptionist, a woman in her mid-30s with a tightly professional demeanor, barely looked up. “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t give out guest information.”

  Jamal nodded thoughtfully, as if he totally respected that policy, and then did exactly what a guy like him would do—he found an angle.

  “Of course, of course,” he said, leaning in just a fraction closer, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret. “I get it—privacy is key. Five-star service and all that. If y’all just let random people wander up, this place would be packed with paparazzi, influencers, and ex-wives trying to get their alimony checks.”

  That got a slight twitch of amusement from her, but she wasn’t cracking yet.

  “So here’s the thing,” he continued smoothly. “I’m not just some guy, alright? I actually work for the gentleman I’m trying to see. Mr. Tychandros? You know, the executive overseeing the Cars 4 a Better Future charity expansion?”

  She hesitated. That name was definitely on the guest list, and his explanation wasn’t totally unreasonable.

  Jamal saw the hesitation and went in for the kill.

  “Listen, you ever work under someone who forgets to give you the details and then you’re the one who gets in trouble?” He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head like he was reminiscing about a lifetime of corporate incompetence. “Man, I swear, executives just assume their assistants are psychic. Like, no, Mr. Tychandros, I don’t just magically know which meeting you meant when you told me ‘set that thing up for Wednesday.’ I need details, my guy.”

  That landed. She knew exactly what kind of boss that was.

  She gave him a quick glance over, then lowered her voice slightly. “I still can’t give you his room number, sir.”

  “Of course not.” Jamal smiled, nodding like that was exactly what he expected. “But, you know, if I happened to be in the elevator when it stopped on his floor, totally by accident… well, I wouldn’t be disturbing any of your privacy policies, would I?”

  The receptionist exhaled sharply—maybe a laugh, maybe frustration—but she relented just a little.

  “The elevator on the right,” she said, without looking up. “You might find what you’re looking for if you take it to the top five floors.”

  Jamal grinned, gave her a small wink, and tapped the counter. “You’re a real good one. Five-star service, for real.”

  Mike, who had been standing a few feet away the entire time, arms crossed, finally stepped forward as they headed toward the elevator.

  “Jesus. That was textbook social engineering,” he muttered.

  Jamal shrugged. “Bro, I didn’t even get warmed up. That was entry-level.”

  Mike shook his head as they both stepped into the elevator. “Yeah. You’re definitely working for Maluck.”

  Jamal smirked as he pressed the button. “Hell yeah, I am.”

  ***

  Jamal and Mike stepped out of the elevator onto the top floors of the hotel. The hallway was quiet, the kind of expensive silence that only the wealthiest people could afford. Plush carpeting, gold-trimmed light fixtures, and a faint scent of overpriced cleaning products filled the air.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Jamal took a deep breath and grinned. “Alright, now we just gotta find Maluck’s room.”

  Mike gave him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. And how do you plan on doing that? By vibing your way there?”

  Jamal stretched his arms like he was warming up. “Nah, man. It’s all about observation.”

  Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jamal, I am begging you—if this plan involves breaking, entering, or even lightly trespassing, just tell me now so I can start preparing my legal defense.”

  Jamal held up a hand. “Chill. We’re not breaking in anywhere. We’re just looking for a little passive intel.”

  Mike sighed. “And what exactly does ‘passive intel’ mean?”

  Jamal smirked. “It means rich people are predictable.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes. “…Go on.”

  Jamal gestured toward the hallway. “Think about it. Rich folks get a lot of services. Room service, housekeeping, dry cleaning, valet. And you know what all those things have in common?”

  Mike crossed his arms. “They charge obscene amounts of money?”

  Jamal chuckled. “Also true. But more importantly, they all involve writing down a room number somewhere.”

  Mike blinked. “You’re banking on a stray receipt lying around?”

  Jamal shot finger guns at him. “Exactly.”

  Mike groaned. “That is the dumbest plan I have ever heard.”

  But as he said it, Jamal suddenly veered toward a hotel room service cart parked outside a door.

  There were a whole bunch of these little carts piled up. It seemed like the room service staff liked to leave them near the elevator and take them all down at once to save trips. And on one of the receipts—Room 2308—Maluck’s name was right there.

  The cart had been left there after a meal delivery—silver tray covers stacked neatly, a half-empty glass of orange juice still sweating on a napkin. And there, tucked underneath the bill, was a small printed ticket with the room number on it.

  Jamal crouched down, pretending to tie his shoe. “Let’s see…” He tilted his head, subtly glancing at the receipt.

  Mike’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

  Jamal straightened up, grinning. “What did I tell you? Predictable.”

  Mike rubbed his temples. “Jamal, that is literally unauthorized access to private information.”

  Jamal patted him on the back. “And yet, here we are. Room 2308.”

  Mike looked like he aged five years in that moment. “You do realize that if anyone catches us, I will not be using my nonexistent law degree to defend you, right?”

  Jamal waved a hand dismissively. “Please. Worst case, we say we got lost looking for a friend. Happens all the time.”

  Mike took a deep breath. “…And impersonating room service?”

  Jamal grinned. “I mean, we could bring him a complimentary glass of water.”

  Mike exhaled through his nose. “I hate how effective your bullshit is.”

  Jamal clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re gonna love working with me.”

  Mike muttered something about regretting every decision that led him to this moment, but still followed Jamal to Room 2308.

  ***

  Maluck heard a knock at his door. Knock, knock.

  It was five minutes past when he had expected them to arrive—not bad, considering he hadn’t actually given them his room number. He opened the door and greeted them with a smirk.

  “Welcome, gentlemen.”

  Jamal stepped inside, glancing around the suite with wide eyes. “Damn, this is nice.”

  Maluck shrugged. “Eh, it’s not too bad.” Then, he turned to Mike. “So, how many laws did Jamal break?”

  Mike blinked. “What?”

  “How many laws did Jamal break getting up here?” Maluck repeated.

  Mike hesitated, caught between his instincts as a lawyer and the fact that he had just met Jamal, who seemed like a decent enough guy. He didn’t exactly want to start their relationship by throwing him under the bus.

  Maluck chuckled. “Relax. You’re not getting him in trouble—he already passed his test by making it up here. Now it’s your test. Go ahead, give me a list.”

  ***

  Mike sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, fine. Let’s see…” He turned to Jamal, who was already flopping down onto one of the ridiculously plush chairs in Maluck’s suite like he owned the place.

  “Well, for starters,” Mike continued, ticking off on his fingers, “Fraudulent Misrepresentation—that’s under Section 380(1) of the Criminal Code of Canada. Basically, you deceived the hotel staff to gain access to a place you weren’t supposed to be. Maximum penalty? Up to 14 years if we’re talking major fraud, but in your case? Maybe a lawsuit if the hotel got pissed.”

  Jamal winced. “Fourteen years? Man, I just asked a couple of questions!”

  Mike ignored him. “Next, we’ve got Mischief Under Section 430(1)—which covers interfering with someone’s ‘lawful enjoyment of property.’ In this case, the hotel. If they wanted to be real dicks, they could argue you caused a disruption to their security process. That one’s a summary offense, so probably just a fine—unless they wanted to push for jail time, which could be up to two years.”

  Jamal’s smile twitched slightly. “Okay, but I didn’t damage anything.”

  Mike gave him a flat look. “Yet.” He kept going. “Unauthorized Entry (Trespassing) under Provincial Law. Alberta’s Trespass to Premises Act could apply since you entered a restricted guest area without permission. That’s a fine of up to $10,000, and if they really want to be dramatic, they can tack on six months of jail time just for fun.”

  Jamal leaned forward. “Hold up—six months?! Just for riding an elevator?”

  Mike crossed his arms. “Technically, you manipulated a staff member into giving you access. So yeah, if they felt like making an example out of you, enjoy six months of ‘re-evaluating your life choices in county lockup’.”

  Jamal let out a low whistle. “Damn. I gotta start keeping a lawyer on retainer.”

  Maluck grinned. “Good thing we’ve got one.”

  Mike wasn’t done. “Oh, and let’s not forget Identity Fraud (Section 403 of the Criminal Code)—not the serious kind, but you did imply you were Maluck’s assistant, which could technically count. If they wanted to charge you? Five years max.”

  Jamal slowly straightened up in his chair. “Alright, this is getting less funny.”

  “Oh, we’re not done,” Mike said, holding up a hand. “Obtaining Services by False Pretenses (Section 362)—because you got a hotel employee to act outside their standard protocol. Again, super unlikely to be prosecuted, but could be two years of jail time.”

  Jamal coughed. “Wait, wait. That sounds like actual prison time.”

  Mike nodded. “If they really wanted to.” He held up one final finger. “And last but not least, Loitering with Intent (Municipal Bylaws). Some cities actually enforce this, so if security decided you looked too suspicious hanging around the lobby? That’s a fine of up to $5,000.”

  Jamal sat back, looking distinctly less smug. “So what you’re saying is… I just accidentally committed, like, eight crimes?”

  Mike shrugged. “Give or take.”

  Jamal ran a hand down his face. “And nobody stopped me?”

  Maluck chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “That’s the scary part.”

  Jamal groaned. “So, what you’re saying is, I gotta start watching my ass?”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is, I don’t know why I agreed to come up here.”

  Maluck clapped his hands. “Great! Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s talk business.”

  ****