Chapter 4 - The Front Door
The sun was shining brightly over Elmwood Lane when the silver airport shuttle van pulled up to the curb of number 742.
Mom, Dad, Brooke, Ethan, and Chloe stepped out of the vehicle, laughing, tanned, and laden with duty-free shopping bags, colorful tropical shirts, and oversized suitcases.
“Ah, home sweet home!” Mom sighed, adjusting her designer sunglasses as she walked up the paved driveway. “I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. Nathan probably left his messy shoes in the foyer.”
“I’m going straight to the fridge,” Ethan muttered, dragging two heavy suitcases. “I hope Burger Boy bought good groceries.”
Dad reached the front porch first. He pulled his house keys from his jacket pocket, inserted the silver key into the deadbolt, and turned it.
The lock clicked open.
Dad pushed the heavy oak door inward.
They didn't step inside.
They just stood there.
The entryway was completely hollow. The carpet was gone, leaving bare subflooring. The antique coat rack, the foyer mirror, the grand chandelier—everything had vanished.
“What the…” Dad muttered, stepping forward hesitantly, his brow furrowed in deep confusion.
Mom pushed past him, holding her sun hat. “What happened to the foyer table? Where are my dried lavender vases?”
They walked into the living room.
There were no sofas. No television. No rugs. No paintings on the walls. Nothing except four bare walls, exposed electrical outlets, and a single white envelope resting neatly on the dusty floor in the exact center of the room.
“Is this a joke?” Brooke shrieked, her voice echoing violently off the empty walls. “Where is my yoga studio?! Where are my recording lights?!”
Ethan sprinted up the stairs, his heavy footsteps thundering through the house. Seconds later, a panicked scream echoed from the upper floor: “MY ROOM! MY GAMING RIG! MY SNEAKERS! EVERYTHING IS GONE!”
Mom dropped her duty-free shopping bags onto the floor, her hands flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. “WE’VE BEEN ROBBED! MICHAEL, CALL THE POLICE! CALL THE POLICE RIGHT NOW!”
Dad pulled his cell phone from his pocket with shaking fingers, dialing 911 on speaker.
“Emergency dispatch,” a operator’s voice barked through the phone. “What is your emergency?”
“This is Michael Carter at 742 Elmwood Lane!” Dad yelled, his calm demeanor completely shattered. “We just returned from vacation! Our home has been completely burglarized! Everything is gone! The furniture, the appliances, the carpets—everything!”
While Dad shouted into the phone, Mom rushed toward the center of the room, picking up the lone white envelope resting on the floor.
On the front of the envelope, written in crisp, dark black ink, was a single name:
PATRICIA AND MICHAEL CARTER
Mom tore the envelope open with trembling fingers. Inside was a legal letter printed on high-grade bond paper bearing the official seal of Vance & Associates Legal Firm.
She began reading aloud, her voice wavering, dropping into a breathless whisper:
“Dear Patricia and Michael Carter,
Please be advised that as of August 5th, the property located at 742 Elmwood Lane, previously held under the sole corporate ownership of Carter Holdings LLC (owned 100% by Nathan Carter), has been legally liquidated and sold.
All personal belongings found within the premises have been cataloged, packed, and placed in secure commercial storage at Westside Storage Facility #4. Access to these items will be granted upon full settlement of outstanding back-rent, property taxes, and utility reimbursements owed to Nathan Carter totaling $142,500.
Please note that utility services have been discontinued, and a commercial demolition permit has been issued for this address effective Monday morning.
You are currently trespassing on private commercial property.
Sincerely,
May you like
Richard Vance, Esq.”
Mom’s phone slipped from her hand, crashing onto the bare floorboards.
