Chapter 2 - The Second Story
The lock on the bedroom door was a brass mortise bolt controlled from the outside with a key—a feature of the Cardenas compound's older, European-style renovation designed to keep domestic staff out of private guest quarters during large events.
I walked to the door, pulled gently on the handle, and confirmed it was firmly set.
There was no keyhole on the inside.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:42 AM. Mason had told me I had five minutes. Eight minutes had already passed.
Downstairs, the ambient noise of the breakfast party was shifting. I could hear the rhythmic clinking of heavy silver against china, the deep laughter of Uncle Javier, and the high-pitched chirp of Mason’s cousins discussing the weekend golf schedule.
Mason would be coming back up shortly—not to check on me out of concern, but to enforce the timeline he had set.
I walked quietly across the room to the heavy mahogany wardrobe. Inside sat my carry-on bag and my travel backpack.
I unzipped the front pocket of the leather tote, reached into the interior silk lining, and pulled out the sealed envelope from the Arlington State Bank. Inside was the cashier's check: $58,500, made out directly to Valerie Ortega. My father had insisted on making it out to my name alone before the wedding, despite Mason’s polite suggestion that it be made out to both of us.
"Just in case you need your own emergency fund for the house, mija," my father had whispered to me in the staging room before walking me down the aisle. "A woman should always have her own name on her money."
I tucked the check into the inner zippered pocket of my backpack, alongside my passport, my social security card, my driver's license, my laptop, and three hard drives containing my entire ten-year portfolio as a commercial graphic designer.
I picked up my phone, opened my cloud storage app, and initiated an immediate upload of the 14-hour audio file over the estate’s guest Wi-Fi. The file was massive—nearly two gigabytes—and the blue progress bar crept forward with agonizing slowness.
Uploading... 12%
Uploading... 18%
I plugged the phone into a portable power bank, slipped it into my pocket, and turned toward the terrace.
The master suite opened onto a wrought-iron balcony overlooking the east garden. Below the balcony was a paved stone loggia supported by heavy wooden pergolas covered in thick, mature Wisteria vines. Below that was a gravel walkway leading toward the service gate and the secondary driveway where the catering staff parked.
I walked out onto the balcony. The morning Texas heat was already rising, thick and heavy with the promise of a ninety-five-degree afternoon.
The drop from the balcony railing to the top of the pergola was about nine feet. From the pergola to the stone walkway was another ten.
I slung the backpack tightly over both shoulders, pulling the chest strap tight until the weight was centered against my spine. I took off my leather flats, tucked them into the side pockets of the bag, and climbed over the wrought-iron balustrade.
My feet dangling over the drop, I looked down.
The Wisteria vines were thick, their woody trunks as wide as my wrist, woven tightly through the heavy cedar beams of the pergola.
Behind me, inside the bedroom, I heard the sharp sound of a heavy metal key sliding into the brass lock.
Click.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped.
My feet landed heavily on the cedar beams of the pergola. The wooden lattice groaned beneath my weight, dry leaves and dried flower petals raining down around me. I immediately dropped my center of gravity, crouching low, my hands gripping the rough cedar to keep from slipping.
Inside the room above, the bedroom door swung open.
I heard Mason’s voice, sharp and angry: "Valerie?"
He moved quickly across the room toward the bathroom. "Valerie, stop playing games. Get out here."
I didn't wait for him to check the balcony.
I swung my legs over the outer edge of the pergola, caught a thick main trunk of the vine with both hands, and slid down the support post, my bare feet scraping against the rough stone of the lower pillar.
My soles hit the gravel walkway with a muted crunch.
I ducked immediately under the shade of the stone archway, pulling my shoes back on, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Above me, I heard the terrace doors open with a slam.
Mason walked out onto the balcony. I could see the shadow of his shoulders cast across the sunlit stone of the garden below.
"What the hell..." he muttered to himself.
He looked left toward the main courtyard. He looked right toward the swimming pool. He didn't look directly beneath the pergola structure.
He pulled out his phone.
A second later, the phone in my pocket vibrated against my hip.
I pulled it out, hit Decline, and watched the cloud upload indicator snap to completion.
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Upload Complete: 100%
I turned away from the house, kept my head low against the line of boxwood hedges, and walked quickly toward the service gate that opened onto the public road.
