Chapter 2 - The Shadows at the Door The ink on the page was barely dry when a sharp, violent pounding shook my front door. It wasn't the gentle, polite knock of a neighbor or the casual rap of a friend. It was heavy, rhythmic, and demanding.
I froze, the letter clutched tightly in my damp palm. The clock on the wall read 11:42 PM. Who could possibly be looking for me in this derelict part of the city at midnight?
I crept toward the door, peering through the warped peephole. Outside, standing beneath the flickering amber glow of the hallway bulb, were two men in tailored black suits. They looked entirely out of place in our rundown apartment building. Their shoulders were broad, their expressions carved from absolute granite, and one of them had a jagged scar running from his ear down into his collar.
"Diego? We know you're in there," a deep, raspy voice called out through the thin wood. "Open the door. Let’s talk about what Carmen gave you."
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Panic spiked through my veins. How did they already know? Carmen had only passed away three days ago, and her funeral was a quiet, poorly attended affair. Had someone followed me from the cemetery? Had the lawyer handling her estate leaked the contents of the will before it was even filed?
I backed away silently, my mind racing. There was no back exit—just a small bathroom window that opened onto a sheer three-story drop into a concrete alleyway. The men pounded again, harder this time, splintering the aged wooden frame around the lock. The first crack of wood sounded like a gunshot in the quiet night. I grabbed my backpack, shoved Carmen’s letter inside along with my student ID and a handful of pesos, and bolted for the bathroom just as the front door crashed open with a deafening thud.
