“And I’m the owner of this building. You don’t search my property because a man in a coat asks nicely.”

The second officer shifted his weight — younger than the first, and less certain. Elias’s eyes sharpened for the first time.

“Mr. Martin, with respect, this is a family matter.”

“No. It became a hotel matter when police arrived in my lobby asking for my employee without documentation.”

The door behind me opened and Victor Moreno walked in, wearing a charcoal overcoat over what looked suspiciously like pajamas, his silver hair combed and his expression murderous.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “What a festive gathering.” Elias’s smile twitched. Victor looked at the officers. “Names and badge numbers.”