Chapter 2 - The Lockout at the Gate
The exterior landscape spotlights illuminating the sprawling three-acre estate suddenly clicked off in a synchronized wave, plunging the cedar deck and the dark pines into near-total blackness, save for the crackling embers of the gas firepit.
A high-pitched, automated digital chime sounded from the electronic front door locks of the main lodge, followed by the heavy mechanical clunk of industrial motorized deadbolts engaging from the inside.
"What happened to the lights?" Denise shrieked, stumbling over a deck chair as she tried to reach the sliding glass patio doors. She grabbed the brushed-nickel handle, pulling with all her strength, but the thick laminated glass remained immovable. "Tyler! The door is locked! All my luggage is inside! My jewelry case is on the master dresser!"
Tyler hammered his fists against the double-paned glass, the sound reverberating through the empty great room where my unpacked leather suitcases sat by the stone hearth.
"Olivia, unlock the doors!" Tyler roared, spinning around to face me, his face illuminated in demonic red shades by the dying firepit. "You can't lock us out in the freezing cold! It’s forty degrees out here! My father has arthritis!"
"Your father should have thought about his arthritis before he cheered while your cousins dragged me across the lawn," I replied, standing tall on the lower deck, wrapping my arms around my chest as the mountain wind whipped through my wet hair.
Through the tall iron security gates at the end of the long gravel driveway, two sets of high-intensity halogen headlights cut through the dark woods.
A black Ford F-250 bearing the gold crest of Adirondack Executive Property Management pulled through the gate, followed closely by a marked Warren County Sheriff’s Department cruiser.
Mr. Henderson, the sixty-year-old master caretaker of the luxury community, stepped out of the truck wearing a heavy canvas chore coat, carrying an industrial master keycase and an iPad.
Beside him walked Deputy Miller, his heavy utility belt clinking in the crisp night air.
"Mrs. Vance?" Henderson called out, shining a high-lumen tactical flashlight down the timber stairs. "We received the automated panic cancellation and the security alert from your primary corporate portal. Is everyone off the leased premises?"
Denise rushed up the steps, her designer sweater flapping in the breeze, waving her manicured hands in front of the deputy’s chest. "Officer! Thank God you're here! This crazy woman just locked my entire family out of our vacation rental! She's having a hysterical breakdown because of a practical joke! Force her to open those doors right now!"
Deputy Miller did not look at Denise. He glanced at the digital manifest on Henderson’s tablet, then shined his light onto my shivering, soaked frame.
"Mrs. Olivia Vance?" Deputy Miller asked, his tone crisp and professional.
"Yes, Deputy," I answered, stepping into the beam of light. "I am the sole primary lessee of this property under contract number LG-9941. The individuals on this deck are non-registered occupants who committed physical assault against my person by forcing me into the freezing pool fifteen minutes ago."
Tyler stepped between me and the deputy, his hands raised in frantic conciliation. "Deputy, it’s a domestic misunderstanding between husband and wife! We’re celebrating my mother’s birthday! I’m Tyler Vance—my name is on our joint tax filings!"
"Your name is not on this master lease, Mr. Vance," Henderson stated, tapping the screen with an iron stylus. "The corporate entity Vance Global Infrastructure LLC, represented solely by Olivia Vance, is the registered guarantor. Pursuant to Section Nine of the Adirondack Private Rental Covenant, once a primary lessee declares a breach and vacates, all secondary occupants have ten minutes to clear the curtilage."
Kyle ran up from the parking area, his face pale with panic. "Tyler! The Escalades won't start! The dashboard screen says 'Vehicle Disabled by Fleet Security - Contact Primary Account Holder.'"
Tyler’s knees seemed to buckle by an inch. He looked at the locked mansion, at the dark woods, at his shivering mother whose teeth were now chattering loudly, and finally back at me.
"Olivia... please," Tyler stammered, his voice dropping into a desperate, hollow whisper. "Where are we supposed to go? The nearest hotel in Lake George Village is forty miles away, and everything is booked for the fall foliage weekend!"
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I looked at my husband of four years—the man who had spent four years taking my credit cards while telling his mother I was lucky to have him.
"There’s a gas station with a heated bathroom five miles down the county road, Tyler," I said softly. "I suggest you and your cousins start walking before the frost hits the gravel."
