Chapter 6 - The Return to a Locked Reality
The flight from Miami was delayed by two hours, which did nothing to soothe Pilar’s rapidly deteriorating temper. By the time their taxi pulled up the long, winding driveway of the stone villa, the sun was high in the afternoon sky.
From the high-definition security camera mounted above the garage, I watched the scene unfold on my phone screen. I was sitting in the rocking chair at Chloe’s house, Arthur cradled in my arm, his warm weight a constant reminder of why I was doing this.
The taxi came to a stop. The door swung open, and Pilar stepped out first. She was wearing her brand-new designer sunglasses, a linen beach dress, and a wide-brimmed hat. Her face was flushed, tanned, and smug. She began dragging her expensive leather suitcases out of the trunk, laughing as she spoke to Marcos, who was busy checking his phone.
Marcos stepped out last. He looked exhausted, his shirt wrinkled, his hands full of shopping bags. He walked up the stone steps to the massive glass-and-stone entrance, reaching into his pocket for his house keys.
I zoomed in on his face.
He slid the key into the lock. He turned it. It didn't move. He frowned, pulling the key out and examining it. He tried again, forcing it into the cylinder. Still, nothing.
"Marcos, what is taking so long?" Pilar snapped, dragging her suitcase up the steps behind him. "It’s boiling out here. Open the door."
"The key... it’s not turning," Marcos muttered, his voice tense. "The lock feels different."
Pilar snatched the keys from Marcos's hand, jamming her own set into the lock with aggressive confidence. When the key refused to budge, her face contorted in anger. "What is wrong with this lock? Did that girl jam the door on purpose?"
And then, she noticed it. Directly above the old brass lock was a sleek, black digital keypad, its small blue light blinking steadily. It was an advanced security lock that hadn't been there a week ago. And right next to it, pasted in the center of the heavy door, was a bright red legal notice.
Marcos stepped back, his face draining of all color. He dropped his shopping bags, the luxury boxes clattering onto the stone steps. "No... no, no, no..."
Pilar ripped the red notice off the door, her hands shaking with rage. "What is this? Is this some kind of joke?" She squinted at the bold print, her voice rising in a screech that echoed off the stone walls of the villa: "ACCESS RESTRICTED BY LEGAL ORDER. ENTRY PROHIBITED. ANY ATTEMPT TO BREACH THIS PROPERTY WILL BE REPORTED TO THE POLICE AS CRIMINAL TRESPASSING."
Below was the name of my corporate law firm, and one final, devastating line: "The former occupants have been notified."
Marcos reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and dialed my number. I watched the call slide onto my screen. I didn't answer. He called again. And again. On the fifth attempt, Pilar’s name popped up on Chloe’s phone.
"Put it on speaker, Chloe," I said, my voice incredibly calm.
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Chloe tapped the screen. Instantly, Pilar’s frantic, screeching voice filled the quiet nursery. "Elena! What on earth did you do? Open this door right now! We are standing outside like absolute fools in the heat! Have you lost your mind?"
I adjusted my baby, my heart rate remaining perfectly steady. "That’s strange, Pilar," I said softly. "Seven days ago, I was locked inside, begging for help while my water broke. No one opened the door for me then."
