Please, allow me to take your bag.

We have the Presidential Suite fully prepared for you—”

“The Presidential Suite isn’t necessary, Arthur,” Clara interrupted, quietly, with a small gesture toward her sleeping daughter.

“Suite 904 is perfectly fine.

But before I go upstairs, we have a structural issue on the ground floor that requires your immediate attention.” Arthur’s eyes darted from Clara’s faded jacket to the two white-faced receptionists frozen behind the desk, and Clara watched him understand that the structural issue in question was not a matter of plumbing or wiring.

“A structural issue, ma’am?” he asked, carefully.