Chapter 2 - The Locksmith's Arrival
By eight o’clock the following morning, the sun over Biscayne Bay was blinding, reflecting off the glass towers in razor-sharp sheets of light. I sat in Elena’s sleek downtown office, watching her administrative assistant stamp official emergency filings. Elena was fifty, impeccably dressed in charcoal linen, with eyes that looked like they had disassembled every deceitful husband in South Florida.
"The emergency protective order has been signed by Judge Miller," Elena said, sliding a certified packet across her mahogany desk. "He is barred from coming within five hundred feet of you, contacting you directly or through third parties, and most importantly, the court has granted you exclusive temporary possession of the residence pending final divorce proceedings. The police will accompany us to serve the papers and supervise the locksmith."
"What about Suzanne?" I asked, adjusting the silk scarf I had wrapped around my neck and jaw to conceal the bandage.
Elena smiled, a thin, predatory expression. "If his sister is inside your apartment, she is trespassing. We will give her fifteen minutes to take her personal purse and leave, or she rides in the back of a squad car."
Thirty minutes later, an unmarked patrol car followed my sedan into the underground parking garage of my building. Marcus, the veteran head concierge who had known me since I bought the pre-construction unit, rushed toward us as we stepped out into the lobby. His face was pale, his hands shaking slightly.
"Clara! Thank God you’re alright," Marcus whispered, leaning in carefully. "Derek and his sister came down here screaming at me at two in the morning because the master key didn't work. They threw a glass vase in the hallway on the twenty-second floor. The HOA board was already drawing up a formal citation before you even walked in."
"Thank you, Marcus," I said softly. "The officers and I are going up now."
Two armed Miami-Dade police officers flanked me as the elevator ascended. With every chime of the passing floors, my heart slammed against my ribs, but my hands remained steady. When the doors opened onto the twenty-second floor, the smell of burnt toast and loud dance music drifted from Unit 2204. Derek hadn't fled; he had thrown a party.
The locksmith, a quiet man named Joe with a heavy tool belt, stepped forward. Before he could insert his drill, Officer Rodriguez hammered his heavy fist against the solid oak door.
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"Miami-Dade Police! Open the door immediately!"
The music died instantly. Scuffling footsteps echoed from within, followed by the sound of a deadbolt clicking back. The door swung open, revealing Derek in an unbuttoned linen shirt, holding a half-empty mimosa. The smug smirk on his handsome face vanished into sheer terror the moment his eyes locked onto the two uniformed officers standing in front of me.
