Chapter 5 - Uninvited Guests
I returned inside the house holding an empty pair of glasses, pretending to read through the boilerplate clauses. Patricia paced the hardwood floor like a caged panther, continually glancing at the front window, waiting for her partner in crime.
""Stop reading every single paragraph, Javier! It’s standard legal jargon!"" she complained, checking her watch for the third time in ten minutes. ""You’ve always been so painfully slow with paperwork. Just sign at the yellow tags so we can get this over with!""
""A man who signs papers without reading them is a fool, Patricia,"" I answered calmly, turning another page without marking it. ""Twenty-two years ago, I promised to protect our family’s future. I’m just making sure our daughter is covered.""
""Daniela is an adult! She needs to stand on her own two feet!"" Patricia snapped, her facade slipping further. ""You coddle her, Javier! You spoil her rotten! That’s why she ended up in the hospital—always being weak, always crying whenever things don't go her way!""
I looked up from the table, locking my gaze onto hers. ""Is that what happened? She was weak?""
Patricia froze for a split second, sensing the razor-sharp edge beneath my quiet tone. Before she could answer, the deep rumble of a heavy V8 engine vibrated through the living room windows.
A black Chevy Tahoe pulling an empty utility trailer backed into our driveway, blocking my pickup truck completely.
Patricia gasped, though she quickly masked it with a nervous cough. ""Oh... that must be... that must be the contractor I hired to look at the garage storage. I told him to come by today.""
""A contractor on a Tuesday morning?"" I asked, slowly standing up from the island. ""You didn't mention hiring anyone.""
""Because you were out of town! I can't consult you on every little detail!"" She practically ran to the front door, pulling it open before the man could even knock.
Standing on our porch was Julian Morales. He was in his mid-forties, wearing dark sunglasses, tight jeans, and a leather jacket. A thick gold chain rested on his chest, and his knuckles bore faded prison tattoos. He carried a heavy leather briefcase under one arm.
""Morning, Patricia,"" Julian said, his eyes scanning the interior of the house with an arrogant familiarity that made my skin crawl. He didn't even look at me initially. ""Everything ready to go?""
""Yes, almost,"" Patricia whispered frantically, trying to body-block him from coming in, but Julian pushed past her without hesitation.
He walked right into my living room, took off his sunglasses, and looked at me with a smirk that dripped with condescension. ""You must be Javier. The hard-working husband. Nice to meet you, pal. Patricia told me a lot about you.""
He extended a hand. I didn't move an inch. I kept my hands buried deep inside my jacket pockets, my eyes locked on his face.
""Did she?"" I asked evenly. ""Did she tell you about the car she stole from my daughter last night?""
The room went instantly dead silent.
Patricia’s face drained of all color. The haughty smirk on Julian’s face flickered, replaced by a sudden, dangerous wariness. His posture stiffened, his free hand drifting instinctively toward the waistband of his jacket.
""What did you just say?"" Patricia stammered, stepping between Julian and me. ""Javier, what are you talking about? Are you losing your mind?""
""I asked about the silver Honda Civic,"" I continued, taking a slow step forward. ""The one with Arizona plates that you promised Julian here could sell across the Mexican border to pay off his gambling debts.""
Julian’s eyes narrowed into slits. ""Hey old man, I don't know what kind of marital problems you two have, but you better watch your mouth.""
""Julian, shut up!"" Patricia hissed, panic finally breaking through her composure. She turned to me, her voice trembling. ""Javier, who told you that? Did Daniela talk to you? She’s lying! She’s delirious from her concussion! You know she hates that I discipline her!""
""Daniela didn't have to say a single word,"" I whispered.
I pulled out my phone, unlocked the screen, and placed it flat on the granite kitchen island. I tapped the screen once.
The high-definition speakers blared to life.
May you like
“Stupid little bitch. You think your father can protect you from me?”
Patricia’s recorded voice rang through the open living room with horrifying clarity, followed immediately by the sickening thud of Daniela’s skull hitting the table.
