Chapter 155
Untitled
She acquired a hotel and underground lounge and small boutiquet that held exquisite dresses and custom jewelry. All walks of life welcome. Exclusive networking with bootleggers and foreign society and underground art shows and auctions. It was close to the docks where newly arrivals stay for a short period as guests. Lounge cater to all walks of life from cheap gin to expensive wine. A secret railroad to passage way for inventory to one of the small underground
The old Metropole, a once-grand but now slightly faded establishment near the bustling docks, became hers. It was a sprawling structure, an edifice of brick and faded grandeur that had seen better days, but she saw past the grime and the peeling paint to the bones of potential beneath. Her photographic memory cataloged every cracked cornice, every water stain, every structural weakness as she walked the echoing halls for the first time under her new ownership. The acquisition had been discreet, facilitated through layers of shell corporations and intermediaries whose existence she had meticulously constructed over months of quiet maneuvering, using the profits from her discreet art sales and the steady income from her carefully managed, albeit illicit, investments.
The ground floor, immediately accessible from the street, was reimagined as a haven for those seeking discretion and excellence, irrespective of their immediate means. The lobby retained a veneer of worn respectability, enough to placate casual scrutiny from uniformed patrols who occasionally passed by, but the atmosphere within was electric with possibility. The main hall was transformed into a lounge, christened ‘The Confluence’—a name that honored the mix of humanity she intended to draw. The décor was her own design, a daring juxtaposition of Art Deco glamour salvaged from European contacts and raw, untamed American spirit. Deep sapphire velvet draped the walls, punctuated by dramatic lighting fixtures she had commissioned from a clandestine glassblower in Chicago, each prism catching the light like a cut jewel.
The bar itself was an architectural masterpiece of understated luxury, crafted from imported dark mahogany that seemed to absorb the room’s secrets. Here, the spectrum of clientele was vast and openly accepted. A grizzled longshoreman could stand elbow-to-elbow with a South American attaché, both nursing drinks tailored to their precise specifications. For the uninitiated or those on a budget, there was the ‘Dockside Libation’—a surprisingly clean, potent bathtub gin she sourced through long-established channels in Kentucky, ensuring a consistent, if harsh, flavor. For the more discerning, or those conducting serious business away from prying ears, she imported Italian Barolos and French Champagne from crates that arrived under the guise of ‘fine linens.’ Her knowledge of vintages, cataloged decades earlier during tedious European dinners, proved invaluable in establishing immediate credibility with the serious money flowing through the city’s veins.
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