Chapter 4 - The Invitation
The sun was directly overhead by the time Javier Robles received the text message on his phone while sitting in the leather-lined interior of his imported sports car parked outside a downtown espresso bar.
His lip was still slightly swollen from a late-night argument with his mother about how poorly executed the honeymoon suite assault had been, but his arrogance quickly returned the moment he read the words on his screen:
“Sofia is ready to sign the condo transfer deeds. Meet us at Warehouse 14, industrial docks, south river road. Bring Carmen and the notary. No police, no lawyers, or the deal is off.”
Javier let out a sharp, triumphant laugh, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. He jammed the start button, revving the engine so loud that pedestrians on the sidewalk jumped. He had known all along that the girl was weak. A few bruises and a night of terror were all it took to break these modern downtown princesses.
Twenty minutes later, a silver Mercedes SUV and Javier’s sports car pulled up in unison outside the rusted, corrugated metal sliding doors of Warehouse 14.
Carmen Robles stepped out of the passenger side of the SUV, adjusting her designer cashmere coat as if she were inspecting a royal estate rather than a derelict industrial loading dock. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her expression a mask of cold, unyielding entitlement. Behind her came two of her cousins—the same women who had helped hold Sofia down the night before—along with a nervous, middle-aged man carrying a heavy leather briefcase who was sweating profusely despite the cool autumn air.
“Javier,” Carmen snapped, turning to her son as he jogged over. “Did she bring the original title deeds?”
“The text said she’s ready to sign, Mom,” Javier grinned, straightening his tie. “I told you, she doesn't have the stomach for a real fight. Once we own that Uptown condo, we can flip it by next month to cover our liquidity shortfall on the Oak Lawn development.”
Carmen’s lips tightened into a thin, satisfied line. “Good. Let’s get this over with. I have a luncheon with the charity committee at two o’clock, and I refuse to be late because of some stubborn little girl.”
Javier stepped forward and hauled back the heavy iron latch of the warehouse door, shoving the corrugated panel aside with a loud, grinding screech.
Inside, the vast, cavernous space was dimly lit by shafts of sunlight piercing through dusty skylights high above. In the center of the concrete floor sat a single wooden table surrounded by four folding chairs.
Sitting at the table, calmly sipping coffee from an old military thermos, was Alexander Brooks.
Behind him stood two massive men in dark jackets—former marine security contractors who looked like they could snap a baseball bat over their knees without breaking a sweat.
Carmen stopped dead in her tracks, her hand flying to her throat. “Who are you? Where is Sofia?”
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Alexander didn't stand up immediately. He slowly lowered his thermos, set it on the scarred wooden table, and raised his eyes to meet Carmen’s terrified gaze.
“Welcome, Carmen,” Alexander said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “I’m the father-in-law you forgot to ask permission from before you ordered your little gang of relatives to beat my daughter.”
