Chapter 5 - The Glass HouseAt 8:00 AM the following morning, the morning sun broke over the San Jose hills, casting long, sharp shadows across the manicured lawns of the Willow Glen neighborhood.
At 1402 Crestview Drive, the Santos family estate sat behind a high wrought-iron gate and a dense hedge of white roses. It was a sprawling, Mediterranean-style home with red clay roof tiles, arched doorways, and a three-car garage—the concrete floor of which had been scrubbed clean with bleach three days prior to remove the bloodstains.
Inside the master bedroom suite, Teresa Santos sat at her mahogany vanity table, staring at her reflection in the oval mirror.
She wore a dark silk dressing gown. Her hair was down, hanging loosely over her thin shoulders. Her eyes were red, swollen, and surrounded by deep, dark circles.
On the news broadcast playing silently on the small television in the corner of the room, a bold yellow ticker scrolled across the screen:
PROMINENT DEVELOPER HECTOR SANTOS ARRESTED FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER OF DAUGHTER; BAIL HEARING SET FOR 10:00 AM.
Teresa stared at the screen, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hold her gold lipstick tube.
"Fake news," she whispered to herself in the quiet room. "It's all lies. Valeria made up a story... she bribed a police officer... she wants to ruin us..."
She set the lipstick down, her eyes drifting to the center of her vanity table.
Sitting on the polished mahogany wood was a heavy, hand-carved silver jewelry box—an heirloom passed down from her grandmother in Guadalajara. It had a small brass lock on the front, to which Teresa wore the key on a thin gold chain around her neck.
She reached out, her fingers touching the cool, filigreed silver.
She pulled the key from her collar, inserted it into the brass lock, and turned it until it clicked open.
Inside, resting on the faded velvet lining, were her mother's pearl necklace, her own wedding ring from thirty years ago, and a collection of silver earrings.
Teresa reached in to pull out her rosary, but as her fingers pressed into the bottom velvet pad, she felt something hard and rectangular beneath the soft fabric.
She froze.
Slowly, carefully, Teresa pinched the edge of the velvet lining and pulled it upward.
Tucked neatly into the hollow wooden base of the antique box was a small, sleek black hard drive—no larger than a credit card—with a small white piece of masking tape stuck to the top.
Written on the tape in her daughter’s neat, familiar handwriting were four words:
MOM, PLEASE READ THIS.
Teresa stared at the black drive. Her breath caught in her throat.
Suddenly, the front door of the house downstairs slammed open with a heavy, violent crash that echoed through the empty foyer.
Heavy, furious footsteps began pounding up the curved marble staircase.
Teresa jumped out of her chair, her heart slamming against her ribs as she turned toward the bedroom door.
The heavy mahogany doors swung open, slamming against the drywall.
Standing in the doorway was Hector.
His suit was rumpled, his hair unkempt, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His high-priced defense attorney had managed to secure an emergency administrative release on a $2 million bond just twenty minutes prior.
He didn't look at his wife. He didn't ask her how she was doing.
May you like
His eyes locked directly onto the open silver jewelry box sitting on the vanity table, and the black hard drive resting in her trembling hands.
"Give that to me, Teresa," Hector said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl as he took a step into the room. "Right now."
Related Stories
