Chapter 5 - The Return
The flight from Miami to Charlotte had been delayed by three hours due to coastal fog, meaning Jason, Evelyn, and Sarah did not land until four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, November twelfth.
The four days following the Fontainebleau incident had been an absolute nightmare for the Vance family.
With their Amex cards canceled and Jason’s personal checking account depleted to two thousand dollars, they had been forced to check out of their luxury suites four days early. They had spent the remainder of their trip staying in a budget motel near the Miami airport, eating fast food, and arguing fiercely in the small room while Evelyn wept over the disgrace of being 'treated like vagrants.'
Jason drove his rented Ford Fusion up the winding, tree-lined avenue of Hillcrest Lane, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
"When we get inside," Evelyn said from the passenger seat, her voice dripping with venom, her hair unwashed and pulled back into a messy scarf, "you are going to demand that she turn over her bank account access immediately. She has humiliated this family for the last time, Jason. A husband has rights!"
"Mom, just stop talking for five minutes," Jason snapped, his jaw tight, his eyes red from lack of sleep. "I haven't slept in three days. Let me handle her."
"Handle her?" Sarah sneered from the backseat, surrounded by cheap plastic luggage. "You couldn't even get us a cab to the airport! We had to take a shuttle with ten strangers!"
"Shut up, Sarah!" Jason yelled, pulling the car onto the wide cobblestone driveway of 440 Hillcrest Lane.
He slammed the car into park, stepped out into the crisp November air, and marched up the marble steps toward the double mahogany doors. Evelyn and Sarah followed close behind, their eyes fixed on the house like two hawks preparing to tear into prey.
"She’s probably cowering in the living room right now," Evelyn muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Waiting for us to forgive her."
Jason reached out and pressed his thumb against the glass keypad.
Nothing happened.
The screen didn't even illuminate. Where the bright blue numbers usually glowed, there was only a flat, dark, blank piece of glass.
"What is wrong with it now?" Evelyn demanded, stepping up onto the top step beside him. "Did she break the lock?"
Jason cupped his hands around his face and pressed his forehead against the heavy bevelled glass window of the front door, trying to peer into the grand foyer.
The foyer was completely dark.
"Emily!" Jason roared, banging his fist against the heavy mahogany panel. "Emily, open this door right now! I know you’re in there! Stop this childish game!"
He pounded again, the sound echoing hollowly through the thick stone frame.
"Look through the side window," Sarah suggested, walking around the portico toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the formal dining room. She pressed her face against the glass, squinting into the interior.
A sudden, sharp gasp escaped her throat.
"Jason..." Sarah called out, her voice suddenly losing all its aggressive arrogance, replaced by a strange, high-pitched quiver. "Jason, come here."
"What?" Jason barked, stomping down the porch steps toward her. "Is she sitting in the dining room?"
"Jason... look."
Jason pressed his face against the dining room glass.
The room was completely empty.
The twelve-foot custom walnut dining table was gone. The hand-blown crystal chandelier that had hung from the center plaster medallion had been cleanly disconnected, its wires safely capped and folded into the ceiling junction box. The hand-knotted Persian rug was gone. The hardwood floors, polished to a mirror shine, stretched across the massive space without a single piece of furniture, curtain, or picture frame in sight.
"What... what is this?" Jason stammered, stepping back, his eyes wide with confusion. "Where is the furniture? Where are the paintings?"
He ran around the corner of the house toward the broad terrace overlooking the rear garden. He looked through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors of the great room.
The six-thousand-dollar Italian leather sectional—gone. The eighty-inch OLED television—gone. The grand marble coffee table—gone.
The entire ground floor of the house looked like a freshly constructed, vacant commercial showroom.
"She... she moved everything?" Evelyn stammered, her face turning pale as she stared through the glass. "Where did she take it? Where is my leather armchair?"
Before Jason could answer, a loud, heavy diesel engine rumbled up the long driveway behind them.
A large, white, unmarked commercial van pulled to a stop on the cobblestones, followed immediately by a sleek black Mercedes sedan.
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Two men in grey work jumpsuits stepped out of the van, carrying heavy toolboxes and a large digital lock-remapping kit. From the rear seat of the Mercedes stepped an older, silver-haired man in a tailored grey suit, holding a dark leather document folder.
It was Mr. Arthur Henderson.
