Robert shook his head, his face turning a shade darker in the cool office light. “I cannot give you that information, Daniel, you know how strict the local board is about transaction privacy before the deed is recorded in the county database.”
“We are in the same MLS group, Robert, we do favors for each other when the pressure is on,” Daniel said, leaning forward until he could smell the mints Robert had been chewing. “I just need to know if we are competing with a real person or a computer algorithm from an investment trust.”
Robert hesitated, his eyes sliding toward the frosted glass door of the main lobby before he turned back to his dual screens. “It was a cash transaction, Daniel, no financing contingency, no appraisal, and they set the closing date for Friday morning.”
“Nobody puts down three million dollars in cash on Oak Avenue without an inspection period,” Daniel said, his voice rising in the quiet room. “That is crazy.”
“This buyer did,” Robert said, his hand hovering over his keyboard as he opened the regional transaction log. “They wired the full escrow deposit within twenty minutes of the seller signing the paperwork.”
“Let me see the screen,” Daniel said, stepping around the side of the desk without waiting for an invitation. “Just let me see the entity name on the log.”
Robert did not stop him, his own curiosity apparently overriding his professional caution as he scrolled through the encrypted lines of the county registry. “If anyone asks, you did not see this system open.”
“Nobody is going to ask,” Daniel said, his eyes scanning the columns of numbers and dates.
The computer monitor flickered, updating the transaction status to show the official buyer holding company.
Daniel stared at the digital letters, his breath catching as he read the name twice, then a third time, before the words made any sense.
“Villalba Holdings,” Daniel whispered, his finger touching the warm glass of the monitor.
“Never heard of them,” Robert said, leaning back in his chair and wiping his neck again. “The purchase was completed in cash this morning under the name Villalba Holdings.”
“That is my last name,” Daniel said.
Robert laughed, a short, nervous sound that died quickly when he saw the pale, rigid expression on Daniel’s face. “Are you telling me you have a secret investor in the family?”
“I don’t have any investors,” Daniel said, his eyes still locked on the blue screen. “Who signed the purchase contract?”
“The signature is digital, authorized by an attorney named Julian Ferrer,” Robert said, pointing his pen at the legal representative line.
Daniel took a step back, his hand falling to his side. “Julian Ferrer is the estate lawyer in the brick park near the highway.”
“Do you know him?” Robert asked, his interest clearly sharpening as he sensed a story.
“My mother was talking about going to see a lawyer last week,” Daniel said, his voice thinning out until it was barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.
“Your mother?” Robert asked, his eyebrows rising. “The lady who used to help you clear out the garage before your open houses?”
“She doesn’t have thirty dollars to her name,” Daniel said, his fingers tightening into fists. “She was living in my spare room until three days ago, using our old grocery bags to pack her things.”
“Well, whoever owns Villalba Holdings just wired a three-hundred-thousand-dollar deposit to the escrow agent,” Robert said, closing the browser tab with a click.
Daniel did not answer, his mind spinning as he grabbed his phone from the desk and walked out of the office.
The lobby of the real estate office was quiet, smelling of synthetic vanilla and old paper.
Daniel stood near the water cooler, his thumb flying across his screen as he dialed Laura’s number, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.
“Did you find out about the villa?” Laura asked, her high, overly sweet tone coming through the speaker immediately. “Did Robert get our offer submitted?”
“The villa is sold, Laura,” Daniel said, his voice low and fast as he paced the carpet.
“What do you mean sold? We had the paperwork ready before anyone else.”
“It was bought by an entity called Villalba Holdings,” Daniel said.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, followed by the faint rustle of clothing as Laura adjusted her hair back.
“Is that some kind of joke, Daniel?”
“Robert checked the computer records,” Daniel said. “The lawyer who handled the paperwork is Julian Ferrer.”
“The one your mother went to see after she left our house?” Laura asked, her voice losing its sweetness. “The one in the brick professional park?”
“Yes,” Daniel said, his eyes fixed on a crack in the lobby tile. “She must have had something we didn’t know about.”
“She had an old Buick with a squeaking belt and a drawer full of coupons, Daniel,” Laura said, her tone growing sharp. “Where would she get three million dollars in cash?”
“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “But we need to find her right now.”
“I am leaving the shop,” Laura said. “Meet me in the parking lot behind the grocery store.”
The strip mall parking lot was hot, the asphalt radiating heat through the soles of Daniel’s leather shoes as he waited by his car.
Laura arrived five minutes later, her boutique uniform slightly rumpled, her fingers frantically brushing her hair back as she stepped out of her car.
“Did she answer her phone?” Laura asked, her face flushed with a mixture of heat and panic.
“It went straight to voicemail twice,” Daniel said, holding up his screen to show the failed call log.
“Try again,” Laura said, her voice rising in pitch. “She wouldn’t just ignore your calls like this.”
Daniel pressed the dial button, listening to the single beep before the automated message started.
“She turned it off,” Daniel said.
“This is impossible,” Laura said, leaning against the warm hood of the car. “If she has that kind of money, why did she let us struggle with the mortgage?”
“We need to find out where she is staying,” Daniel said.
“She has to be at that hotel near the bay,” Laura said. “The one she mentioned when she took her suitcase.”
Daniel dropped his car keys onto the asphalt, his face pale in the bright afternoon sun.
The metal bumper of Daniel’s black sedan sat two inches from the fender of the gray Buick.
Carmen kept her foot pressed firmly on the brake pedal while the engine of her car idled with its familiar, high-pitched squeak.
Daniel was out of his driver’s seat before his engine had even finished idling down, his gold watch catching the sharp morning light as he slammed his door shut.
He came straight to her window and tapped his knuckles against the glass, the sound sharp and rhythmic like a woodpecker on dry pine.
Carmen did not roll the window down all the way, leaving just a two-inch gap that let in the heavy smell of damp grass and car exhaust.
“I have an appointment with Julian Ferrer at ten, Daniel,” she said, keeping her voice soft and level.
“You aren’t going to any office until you tell me whose name is on the deed for the Oak Avenue villa,” Daniel said, his face pressed close to the glass.
He checked his watch again, his fingers twitching against his thigh.
“The listing agent told me the holding company went through a private bank in Tampa,” Daniel said, his fast, impatient sentences running together.
“I do not know why you are following me,” Carmen said, her hand resting on her lap, her fingers gently twisting her gold wedding ring around her knuckle.
“You think I wouldn’t find you here?” Daniel asked, leaning his weight against her door panel. “Your Buick has been sitting in this same corner spot since yesterday afternoon.”
“This is a public lot,” she said.
“You walked out of my house in the middle of the night with a suitcase and left your key on the dresser,” Daniel said, his eyes scanning the interior of her car as if looking for a receipt or a bank slip. “And twelve hours later, a cash offer closes on a three-million-dollar property under our family name.”
He reached down, trying to slide his hand through the gap in the glass to reach the lock.
“Unlock the door, Mom,” he said.
Carmen turned the key to off, silencing the squeaking fan belt, and sat in the quiet cabin for three seconds before she opened the door.
She had to push against his weight to get it open, forcing him to take a step back onto the hot asphalt.
“We can discuss this inside where it is cool,” she said, stepping out into the humid air.
“There is nothing to discuss inside,” Daniel said, but he followed her anyway as she walked toward the double glass doors of the lobby.
The lobby was small and smelled of stale coffee and carpet cleaner.
Laura was already sitting on the low vinyl sofa near the elevator, her fingers frantically brushing her hair back from her forehead as she watched the entrance.
She stood up so quickly her purse slid off her lap and spilled a pack of gum and a ring of keys onto the tile.
“Carmen,” Laura said, her voice carrying that high, sweet tone she used when she was trying to apologize to a difficult customer at the boutique. “Thank goodness you are alright.”
“I am perfectly fine, Laura,” Carmen said, stopping near the front desk where the young clerk was busy typing on a computer.
“We were so worried about you,” Laura said, taking three quick steps forward and reaching for Carmen’s hands. “We had no idea you were staying in a place like this.”
“It is clean, and the bed is comfortable,” Carmen said, keeping her hands tucked under her arms.
“We know about the money, Mom,” Daniel said, coming up behind her and speaking directly into her ear. “Robert Sterling called us from his office after he saw the name on the wire transfer.”
“Robert should not be discussing client business with anyone,” Carmen said.
“He knows me,” Daniel said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “He knows I’ve been trying to get that listing for six months.”
Laura nodded quickly, her eyes darting between the front desk clerk and her mother-in-law.
“We are drowning in credit card bills, Carmen,” Laura said, her sweet voice cracking slightly at the edges. “We have forty-two thousand dollars in debt on the house alone, and you are sitting on millions.”
“That is my personal business,” Carmen said.
“Your personal business?” Daniel asked, his face flushing. “You lived under my roof for four years.”
“I paid my share,” Carmen said.
“Three hundred dollars a month doesn’t cover the electricity, let alone the food you ate,” Daniel said.