Chapter 5 - The Flight of Panic
At 7:15 PM on Thursday evening, United Airlines Flight 1420 touched down at Denver International Airport.
Luca was the first person out of the jetway.
He looked like a ghost. His eyes were bloodshot, his designer shirt wrinkled, his hair wildly unkempt. Behind him trailed his mother, Wendy, and his sister, Stephanie, both dragging their heavy designer suitcases, sweating profusely despite the cool Colorado air.
When Luca’s cards were frozen in Miami, they had been forced to spend six agonizing hours in the hotel lobby, arguing with hotel management over an unpaid four-thousand-dollar room bill. In the end, Wendy had been forced to empty her personal savings account just to pay the bill and buy three economy-class tickets back to Denver.
"Luca! Slow down!" Wendy gasped, leaning heavily on her suitcase handle as they hurried through the crowded terminal. "My knee is killing me!"
"We don't have time, Mom!" Luca shouted back, grabbing his phone as he walked. "Jessi’s legal notice said Friday at nine o'clock! We have less than fourteen hours to get to the house!"
He dialed Jessi’s number for the hundredth time.
“The party you are trying to reach has blocked your number...”
Luca slammed his phone against his thigh in sheer frustration. He opened his banking app again. His personal account—the joint account he shared with Jessi—showed a balance of precisely $14.22.
Jessi had legally removed her name from the account that morning, taking her corporate capital with her and leaving only Luca’s minimal personal deposit.
"What are we going to do?!" Stephanie whined, pulling at her hair. "All my designer shoes are in the cabana! My limited-edition handbags are in the walk-in closet! If she sells the house, what happens to my stuff?!"
"Shut up, Stephanie!" Luca snapped, his head pounding. "She didn't sell the house! It’s a trick! She’s trying to scare us into giving up control! We are going straight to Redwood Crest right now!"
They rushed to the ground transportation level and got into a local airport taxi.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"1400 Redwood Crest Drive, Boulder," Luca barked, leaning back against the vinyl seat, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "And step on it!"
During the forty-five-minute drive from Denver to Boulder, Luca stared out the window at the darkening sky over the mountains.
He tried desperately to reconstruct his mental narrative. I'm her husband, he told himself repeatedly. We have a baby together. No judge in Colorado will let a woman sell her husband's home without his consent. It's an empty threat. It has to be.
When the taxi finally turned down the long, winding pine tree avenue of Redwood Crest Drive, Luca’s eyes scanned the horizon for his home.
The grand stone security gates at the estate entrance were wide open.
Luca’s heart sank.
The wrought-iron gates, which were normally locked twenty-four hours a day with heavy security keypads, were propped completely open by yellow industrial cones.
"Why are the gates open?" Wendy gasped from the backseat.
The taxi pulled up the circular driveway and stopped in front of the grand mansion.
Luca froze.
Parked in front of the front doors were two massive, commercial demolition dumpsters. Standing on the lawn were six men in heavy high-visibility vests, carrying industrial power tools, sledgehammers, and rolled-up floor protection film.
Beside them stood a sleek black sedan.
Sitting on the front hood of the sedan, holding a clipboard and wearing an expensive wool coat, was Phoebe Reed.
Luca threw his taxi door open and sprinted across the lawn. "What the hell is going on here?!" he screamed. "Who are you people?! Get off my property!"
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Phoebe calmly set her clipboard down and looked at her watch.
"Good evening, Luca," Phoebe said, her voice completely smooth. "You're early. I expected you around eight."
