At the entrance to Lakeview Crest, a security gate blocked the road. A keypad blinked beside a camera. Harold did not bother stopping. He turned onto the grass shoulder, drove around the barrier, and continued forward. The manicured lawns of the neighborhood blurred past.
Fountain sculptures and polished stone driveways flashed by. He reached a large mansion with white pillars and dark tinted windows. Tire marks cut across flowerbeds as he parked directly before the entrance. The front door opened. Curtis stepped outside.
Curtis wore designer clothing, a gold watch, and a confident smirk that did not reach his eyes. In his hands he held a metal baseball bat. He rested it on his shoulder as if posing for a photograph. “You should not be here,” Curtis said loudly. “Emily is having a private family moment. Go home old man.”
Harold stepped out of the truck and closed the door quietly. He walked toward the porch. His posture was relaxed. His face showed no anger. Only certainty. “Move aside,” Harold said.
Curtis laughed. “Or what. You think you can scare me. I will make sure you never see your daughter again if you keep interfering.” Curtis lifted the bat and swung it toward Harold with clumsy bravado.
Harold stepped forward at the same time, avoiding the strike with a simple shift of weight. The bat passed through empty air. Curtis stumbled slightly. Harold placed one hand on Curtis shoulder and guided him gently but firmly toward the ground.
Curtis collapsed onto his knees, gasping, shocked, humiliated, unable to understand how he had been neutralized without dramatic struggle. Harold did not strike again. He simply stepped past him and opened the front door.
Inside the house, soft classical music played from hidden speakers. Harold followed the sound of muffled crying upstairs. He moved swiftly but quietly. At the top of the stairs, a bedroom door stood open. Inside, Emily knelt on the carpet. Her long hair lay uneven and ruined around her shoulders.
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