As federal takeover plans force the Avallon to clear out, June moved the mass checkout to the ballroom. The suspended Burns Night poetry drifted overhead while tartan-clad waitstaff handed out travel parcels made from the aborted feast. June personally apologized to each guest, observing the unsettling sight of the social elite queuing for coats and cars.

Mr. Astor, in genial spirits, quoted Burns and offered June the wry advice to avoid boats. The last departing party, the Morgan family—longtime patrons with deep history at the Avallon—said their farewells. Mother Morgan told June they had left a gift at the front desk, and Father Morgan, speaking quietly, shared valuable intelligence: upcoming ration items, war legislation under discussion, current FBI detention orders, expected industrial and urban booms tied to war production, the State Department’s expanding power, and anticipated draft plans. June recognized this as the most consequential gift they had given her.

Once the guests were gone, the ballroom stood nearly empty. June reflected on how she had previously steered the Avallon through the Depression by investing boldly to preserve its aura of abundance, transforming it from an institution into a legend. Now that legend was hollowed out, its cultural lifeblood expelled.

One notable exception remained: the reclusive guest known only as 411. Summoned by Griff’s reminder, June rode an unstaffed elevator to the fourth floor, recalling the Gilfoyles’ legacy and Mr. Francis Gilfoyle’s enduring presence in the hotel’s history. The hallway felt heavy and dim, its identical doors suggesting burdens of the living rather than ghosts.

At room 411, June knocked and was met with the sound of breaking furniture and 411’s theatrical defiance. 411—an agoraphobic former high-profile designer with a sharp wit who had designed the Burns Night poetry installation—insisted she would throw items out the window every time staff tried to evict her. She hinted at influence by pointing out the phone number on her account belonged to Francis Gilfoyle and mocked June’s understanding of status outside the Avallon.

June explained that the State Department’s rules allowed only federal agents and staff to remain. 411 demanded to be put on staff, arguing June could invent a suitable job description. Torn between discipline and personal loyalty—411 was both a problem and June’s closest friend in the hotel—June chose a pragmatic solution that preserved 411 and complied with federal orders.

June declared 411 a consultant, instructing staff to formalize and backdate the hire by a month and to return the damaged end table to the room. With this decision, June turned a potential conflict into a workable exception as the hotel transitioned to its new wartime purpose.