About this book:

The Larkin Hotel doesn't just sit in the valley—it holds it together. Or it used to. Now the grand piano is sour, the elevators are tombs, and the "near-future" luxury upgrades lie dead alongside the town's economy. When the final guest checks out of Room 412, night manager Elias Thorne faces a choice: hand over the hotel's secrets to the bankers circling like vultures, or drive the ledger of a century's sins out into the storm. The phone rings with a voice from the past demanding the keys. The shadow in the ballroom isn't a ghost. And the off-season isn't a season anymore—it's the new forever.

Atmospheric and razor-sharp, *The Off-Season at Larkin* unfolds like a long-exposure photograph of a vanishing world: the rot beneath the cedar scent, the deals struck over champagne that poisoned the water table, the promises that built a palace on a swamp. Every corridor hides a chapter of the town's true history—the politicians, the developers, the housekeepers who knew which rooms held what the bills didn't show. Elias carries it all in a canvas bag, driving into the dark with a failing alternator and a woman who has nowhere to go.

This is literary suspense rooted in the physics of decline: how a building breathes when the people leave, how silence amplifies the truth, and how the past refuses to stay buried in the foundation. For readers who loved the decaying grandeur of *The Remains of the Day* and the simmering tension of *The Silent Patient*, here is a novel where the setting is the protagonist, the ledger is the weapon, and the final checkout is only the beginning.