Chapter 6 - Unwanted Visitors
It was not Lorraine.
The man standing under the glare of the security floodlight was broad-shouldered, dressed in a soiled canvas jacket and a dark knit beanie pulled low over his forehead. He didn't run when the light flared; instead, he stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed directly on the glass doors where Nolan and I were watching.
"Stay back, Clara," Nolan ordered, his voice tense as he grabbed a heavy wooden baseball bat from the umbrella stand by the coat rack. "Paige, call the patrol guard outside right now!"
Paige whipped out her phone, dialing furiously.
Outside, the man took three slow, deliberate paces toward the patio doors. He didn't attempt to force the handle. Instead, he pulled an envelope from his jacket, slapped it onto the glass pane with a strip of heavy duct tape, and stepped back. He tilted his head toward the indoor security camera mounted above the doorframe, offering a brief, mocking nod, before turning and leaping effortlessly over the five-foot cedar fence into the alleyway.
Thirty seconds later, the private security guard arrived at the back gate, flashlight sweeping the empty yard.
"He's gone, Mr. Vance," the guard called out after searching the alley. "Clear on the perimeter. But you'll want to see this."
Nolan unlocked the deadbolt, sliding the glass door open just enough to peel the sealed envelope off the exterior pane. His face was pale as he stepped back inside and locked the door securely.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice trembling.
Nolan sliced open the envelope with a kitchen knife. Inside was a single printed sheet of paper and an old, faded photograph.
The photograph showed Lorraine in her late thirties, standing beside an unfamiliar, rugged-looking man outside an old warehouse building in the industrial docks. On the back, written in smeared ballpoint pen, were the words: *Lorraine doesn't pay her debts. But someone has to.*
The printed document was a loan agreement—not from a bank, but an informal promissory note with astronomical interest rates, dated six months prior. Lorraine Vance had borrowed three hundred and twenty thousand dollars from a private lending firm associated with illicit gambling syndicates. The collateral listed on the document was the deed to Nolan's childhood home—the very house she didn't legally own.
"She committed fraud to secure loans from loan sharks," Nolan whispered, staring at the paper. "She gambled away her liquid savings, borrowed from criminals using my inheritance as collateral, and when the notes came due..."
"She needed the estate to transfer immediately," Paige finished, horror in her voice. "If Clara died, Nolan would be shattered. If Nolan died shortly after, the whole estate became Lorraine’s, and she could pay off these thugs before they broke her neck."
"The man in the yard," I said, a shiver running down my spine. "He wasn't sent to kill us. He was sending a message."
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"He's letting us know that Lorraine's clock has run out," Nolan said, staring at the darkened yard. "Which means she is more desperate now than she has ever been."
***
