The Last Laugh

Part 7

The boss ended up stabilizing at the hospital, giving Miles the ok to head back home. Miles didn't really get much more information out of Sofia about who the shooter could have possibly been– and honestly if the boss was out of the picture that would only mean more money for Miles. But, he's still kicking it.

As Miles laid in his own bed, he stared up at the plain white ceiling– the thought that the shooter (or shooters) could've been trying to shoot him and not the boss kept him awake. It had been at least a week since the incident and he nor Mark had heard anything back from Sofia or the boss. Nobody had any idea of who the shooter could be besides the hunch that it could've possibly been someone who was invited to the party. Either way, they had no leads. Nobody had attempted anything further, and all roads kept coming to a dead end much less the fact that hundreds of people were at said party. So everyone just seemed to move on. Mark hadn't really said much since the incident, I mean it was understandable he literally almost watched the life leave his uncles body. Eventually, Miles' mind started to slow as he started to fall asleep.

Come morning, Miles groggily pulled himself together. There was a supposedly large group of guests checking in later today. Some exposition was being held at the convention center and the hotel was booked solid Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Miles walked into his extravagant bathroom, the sink, bathtub, and shower all made from brilliant Morocco black marble. Miles stared at himself in the vanity mirror for a brief moment before making his way over to his shower. He had come a long way in his life. Going from having nothing to eat but ketchup and saltine crackers with his mom piss drunk on the couch to owning and running the most successful hotel in Vegas. Why did he want more? Would anything ever be enough? Miles stood in the shower, letting the water fall over his body for a good minute letting himself cry a little as he thought about the boss, he really hadn't let himself feel anything since the incident. He was never really good about expressing his emotions, maybe that's what made himself such a great businessman.

After finishing up his shower and drying himself off, Miles moseyed on out of his bathroom and into his large walk in closet. Even though Mark designed just about the whole hotel, Miles still made the layout of his own room himself. He never really told anyone but Mark about this, but Miles was obsessed with his image. Miles rummaged through his closet, planning on wearing a suit but still wanting keep things on the casual side. He pulled a pinstripe suit jacket and matching pair of trousers from their hangers, laying them down on a small round couch that sat in the middle of the closet. He scanned his collection of shoes, pulling out a pair of classic Chelsea boots with the perfect heel height. Quickly, Miles wrapped himself in a white dress shirt unbuttoning it just halfway before pulling on his jacket and slipping on his trusty Chelsea boots. He pulled open one of the many slender drawers that lined the front of the closet, picking out a couple rings to wear, sliding them swiftly onto his fingers. Then he pulled open the drawer just beneath that one, laying a gorgeous gold figaro link bracelet onto his wrist, closing the clasp firmly– adding his green dial day-date to match. After giving himself a look over in the floor length mirror propped up against the wall in his closet, Miles decided his morning routine was done and it was time to head to his office. He made his way to the elevator that sat on the far wall in the back of his suite, pressing the button. As the elevator lowered him to the first floor, Miles watched the hundreds of people flowing through the crowded casino grow larger as he got closer. Finally landing on the first floor Miles made his way to his office, opening the door to find Mark and another familiar face sitting in front of his desk.

"Miles!" The woman's voice beamed.