Tonight, the Meridian Grand was having a problem. The annual Celestial Ball was in full swing on the 44th floor, and the new computer-controlled cars were throwing tantrums. They’d stop between floors, their digital readouts flickering error codes that meant nothing. The guests, jewel-laden and impatient, were piling into the lobby.
Phelps had no choice. He nodded at Leo.
“Otis VIP 260, Car 4. Installed. The levelling is poetry. She knows the floor before the floor knows itself.” otis vip 260