Chapter 18

We walk down a wood-paneled hall in the penthouse. Grant stops halfway down the corridor and presses three spots on the wall.

Just like the passageway in the hotel, a door swings open where there hadn’t been anything before. The separations in the wood paneling form the outline of the door, which swings inward.

“You really like these secret passage things, don’t you?” I ask.

“You have no idea.”

We walk through, into a dimly lit corridor. There don’t seem to be any other doors – but by now I know better. Ten steps in, he stops and presses another three spots.

A panel slides open, revealing a keypad. He types in a 10-digit number, and a final door opens up in front of him, magically appearing in the wall.

“What the hell?” I say.

“Some people have panic rooms. Me… I have secret rooms.”

“Why?”

“Take a look.”

He gestures, and I walk into one of the strangest rooms I have ever seen in my life.

It’s an art gallery, sort of. A dozen or so pictures hang on the white walls of the 30x30 room.

Th