Chapter 2 - The Locksmith at Dawn
The master suite was quiet, bathed in the cool blue glow of the late-night city skyline outside our floor-to-ceiling windows. I sat down at my glass vanity, set the ruined dress beside my laptop, and took a deep, steady breath.
My hands didn't shake as I pulled up the smartphone app for our home automation system. I selected the kitchen security camera reel, downloaded the last thirty minutes of raw, high-definition audio and video, and saved three redundant copies to my cloud server.
Then I dialed my personal attorney, David Vance.
"Claire?" David answered on the third ring, his voice crisp despite the late hour. "Is everything all right? You rarely call after eight."
"David," I said, my tone as solid as steel. "I need you to pull up my prenuptial agreement, the title deed for the Northbrook estate, and the corporate registry for Vance & Sterling Asset Management."
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the rustle of papers as David sat up at his desk. "Did something happen with Daniel?"
"Daniel and his mother just informed me that he pays for everything in this house," I said smoothly. "So tomorrow morning, I'm updating the real estate records to reflect reality. I want the smart locks re-keyed at six sharp. I want a private security unit stationed at the front gate. And I want you to prepare a formal notice of trespass against Patricia Sterling."
"Claire," David warned gently, "if you initiate this now, Daniel’s illusion dissolves completely. You know how fragile his positioning is with his firm's creditors."
"He let his mother tear my eight-hundred-dollar dress off my body and stood there in silence, David," I replied, looking at my reflection in the dark window pane. "His illusion ended fifteen minutes ago. Make the calls."
"Understood," David said. "The locksmith and security team will be at your property at 5:30 AM."
I hung up the phone and walked into the walk-in closet. I packed Daniel’s three suit suitcases with his clothes, his shoes, his designer watches, and his vanity kit. I carried them down to the lower foyer, stacked them neatly beside the front door, and locked the deadbolt.
At 5:30 AM, while the morning mist still hung low over the manicured lawn, a silent black van pulled into the driveway. Two certified locksmiths and two uniformed private security officers stepped out.
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By 6:15 AM, every physical lock on the property had been replaced with military-grade biometric deadbolts, and Daniel and Patricia’s electronic access codes had been permanently erased from the master control unit.
I made myself a mug of black coffee, pulled up the front gate camera feed on my tablet, and sat on the plush leather couch in the living room to wait.
