Chapter 3 - The Man in the Hallway
Marina locked the kitchen door.
I reached beneath the side drawer of my wheelchair and pulled out the small pistol I had carried since an attempted kidnapping threat five years earlier.
Her eyes widened.
“You keep that in your chair?”
“I own a shipping company.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“It answers enough.”
Footsteps moved through the service corridor.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Whoever had entered the house believed he had time.
Marina grabbed the heavy iron skillet from the stove.
I almost laughed.
“You plan to fight him with cookware?”
“I plan to make him regret choosing the kitchen.”
The handle moved.
Once.
Then again.
The lock held.
A shadow crossed beneath the door.
I called Daniel.
The call went straight to voicemail.
The stranger struck the door with his shoulder.
The frame shook.
Sofía was asleep upstairs.
That thought removed every trace of fear from me.
“Get her,” I said.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Marina.”
“No.”
The door shook again.
A crack appeared beside the lock.
I aimed the weapon.
“When that door opens, move behind the island.”
“You cannot shoot through the door.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
The next impact shattered the frame.
The door swung inward.
A broad man in gray coveralls stepped into the kitchen.
He wore gloves and a dark cap.
His face was partially covered.
He froze when he saw the gun.
“Take one more step,” I said.
He looked at my wheelchair.
Then he smiled.
That smile made me understand he did not believe I would fire.
He reached inside his jacket.
I fired into the marble beside his foot.
The explosion filled the kitchen.
He stumbled backward.
Marina swung the skillet into his wrist.
Something metallic fell from his hand.
Not a gun.
A syringe.
The man struck Marina across the shoulder and ran into the hallway.
I pushed the chair after him.
He disappeared through the service entrance just as outside lights flooded the property.
The security guards finally arrived.
One of them caught the gate closing.
The stranger escaped into a waiting motorcycle and vanished toward the causeway.
Marina leaned against the island, holding her shoulder.
I picked up the syringe using a dish towel.
A clear liquid filled the chamber.
There was no label.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
Detective Aaron Mills studied the broken door, the damaged floor, and the syringe.
“You have enemies, Mr. Santana?”
“I have competitors.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Yes.”
“Any recent threats?”
I showed him the message about the scans.
His expression sharpened.
“You didn’t report this?”
“I received it yesterday.”
“You should have called.”
“I am calling now.”
Marina sat at the kitchen table while a paramedic examined her shoulder.
Detective Mills turned toward her.
“You saw his face?”
“Not clearly.”
“Height?”
“About six feet.”
“Accent?”
“He did not speak.”
The detective picked up a small plastic item found near the broken door.
It was an employee access badge.
The photograph showed a man named Lucas Ferrer.
The company logo beneath his name belonged to Santana Logistics.
I stared at it.
“I fired him eight months ago.”
“For what reason?” the detective asked.
“Unauthorized cargo diversions.”
“Was he arrested?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I looked toward the badge.
“Daniel convinced me the evidence was incomplete.”
The detective placed it inside an evidence bag.
My phone rang.
It was Daniel.
I answered on speaker.
“Where are you?”
“At the office.”
“Someone broke into my house.”
Silence.
Then his voice became urgent.
“Is Sofía safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“I’m coming immediately.”
I looked at Marina.
She was staring at the syringe.
“Daniel,” I said.
“Did Lucas Ferrer ever have access to my hospital records?”
The silence on the other end lasted one second too long.
“What are you talking about?”
I repeated the question.
Daniel exhaled.
May you like
“Eduardo, there are things we need to discuss in person.”
Then the line disconnected.
