Chapter 4 - The Message from the Shadows
The vibration of the phone was the only sound in the room,
a rhythmic buzzing that felt like a ticking time bomb.
The name on the screen was Austin,
Keaton’s younger brother,
the one who had "moved away for work" two years ago and rarely called.
Bernice reached for the phone with a desperate,
clumsy hand,
but she was too slow.
I leaned over and read the notification before she could flip it over.
"Mom,
answer your phone,"
the text read,
"They’re coming for us."
The air in the room suddenly felt thin,
charged with a new kind of fear.
Keaton’s face went from red to a ghostly,
ashen white,
and he sat down heavily in his chair,
the cup of noodles forgotten.
"Who is coming,
Bernice?"
I asked,
my voice a whisper that cut through her panic.
"What did Austin do?"
She snatched the phone,
her hands shaking so violently she almost dropped it.
"It’s nothing,"
she snapped,
her voice cracking.
"He’s just being dramatic,
you know how he is."
"Stop asking questions,
Elena,"
Keaton added,
his voice regaining a flicker of its usual arrogance.
"This is family business,"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Family business?"
I laughed,
a jagged,
bitter sound.
"I am the one who has been paying for this family for years."
"If there are 'people coming,'
and they are coming to my house,"
"I have every right to know why."
I looked at the folder of receipts,
then back at Bernice.
"That thirty thousand dollars didn't go to a doctor,
did it?"
"It went to Austin."
She didn't deny it,
she just looked at the floor,
her jaw set in a stubborn line.
Suddenly,
the buzzer for the front gate rang,
a sharp,
jarring sound that made both of them jump.
In our upscale complex,
the buzzer only rang if someone wasn't on the guest list.
I walked toward the intercom,
my heart pounding against my ribs.
Keaton rushed past me,
trying to block my way.
"Don't answer it,"
he hissed,
his eyes wide with terror.
"Elena,
I’m warning you,
don't answer that door."
I pushed his hand away from the console,
the regional director in me taking control.
"This is my apartment,"
I said,
"And I don't harbor secrets from people who come to my door."
I pressed the button to view the camera.
Standing at the gate were two men in dark suits,
holding a set of legal documents and a clipboard.
May you like
They didn't look like debt collectors,
they looked like officials.
