It was a typical morning at Sunrise Suites. Mr. Joseph carefully placed his paint roller in the tray, wiping his hands on his work pants. Room 125's old fashioned eggshell beige walls would have to wait.
Mr. Joseph has been working at Sunrise Suites long enough to know that when he’s busy only one person calls his phone. Ms. Sanderson's her voice – normally confident and cheerful – never heard her sounding all shook up sad like that.
The elevator doors opened with that familiar soft ding, and Mr. Joseph stepped inside, his mind racing. In fifteen years of maintaining Sunrise Suites, he'd received countless calls from Ms. Sanderson, the property manager. Usually, they were about minor emergencies – a stubborn clog in 304, a window that wouldn't shut in 216, or the occasional locked-out guest.
But this time felt different.
He pressed the button for the first floor lobby, where Ms. Sanderson's was located. As the elevator doors slowly closed, he recalled the tremor in her voice.
"Mr. Joseph, can you come to the lobby there a guy standing in the bar area freaking me and Ms. Su out we need you down here right away." No "good morning," none of that– just get down here now!
To be continued...