Chapters (152)
- Epigraph
- Prologue
- I. Sunday
- Sunday
- 1
- 2
- 3
- II. Monday
- Monday
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- III. Tuesday
- Tuesday
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- IV. Wednesday
- Wednesday
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- V. Saturday
- Saturday
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- VI. Sunday
- Sunday
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- VII. Monday
- Monday
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- VIII. Tuesday
- Tuesday
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- Epilogue
- Two Weeks Later
- Afterword
- Get Exclusive John Milton Material
- Also By Mark Dawson
- In the John Milton Series
- In the Beatrix Rose Series
- In the Isabella Rose Series
- About Mark Dawson
Takashi Nishimoto took the elevator down from the penthouse to the floor below. It was his private elevator and could only be operated by way of the key card that he carried in his wallet. Its twin, operating in the same shaft, was for public use, although that was limited to the first ten floors only so that security could be maintained. Takashi could access any floor he chose via this elevator, but the only way for anyone else to reach the eleventh and twelfth floors was to take the public elevator to the tenth floor and then, once they had been cleared by security, to climb the stairs.
The elevator chimed and the door opened. The eleventh floor was just as opulent as the twelfth. Even the lobby here had been lavished with expense. There were marble columns, a small fountain and a painted ceiling. A pair of sinuous gilt armchairs—Takashi knew that they were properly described as fauteuils—sat on either side of the two elevators.
His private floors were very different from the rest of the building. The state of the decor on the eleventh and twelfth floors was a world away from that of the others. The floors below had walls that were sodden with damp, the moisture forcing the paint to peel away in scabrous patches and encouraging mould to spread. The damp continued into the apartments themselves, and many would have been condemned if it were not for the friendly inspectors from the Bureau of Social Welfare and Public Health that Takashi had on his payroll. Takashi did not care that the building had been allowed to rot. The tenants who lived behind those doors were not in a position to demand that improvements be made. They could leave if they so chose; the demand for accommodation in Tokyo was greater than supply, and it would take his agents five minutes to find new tenants who would be grateful for the roof over their heads.
The eleventh floor had been reserved for Takashi and his immediate family. There were five apartments, each vast and with generous en suite facilities. Takashi’s own sleeping quarters were here, together with a room for Katsuro.