The Neighbor at the Gate

Marcus stood in the doorway, the roll of duct tape dangling from his index finger like a grotesque ring. His silhouette was a black void against the dimly lit hallway.

"Estate planning," he said, his voice terrifyingly conversational. "A little morbid for a snowy Tuesday, don't you think?"

Elena backed away until her legs hit the edge of the mahogany desk. She shoved the folder behind her back, her fingers cramping around the cardstock.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, her voice sounding thin and reed-like in the heavy room. "I wanted to check the trust. For Leo."

"Of course." Marcus stepped into the room. The light from the hall caught his face. He wasn't smiling. "Always about Leo. Always the martyr."

He tossed the duct tape onto the leather chair. It landed with a heavy *thud*.

"Give me the file, Elena."

"Why did you change it?" She didn't move. She couldn't. "Why is Diana the beneficiary?"

"Because you're unstable," he said smoothly, walking toward her. "Look at you. Breaking into my office. Stealing pills. hallucinating voices. You're not fit to manage the estate. I'm just protecting our assets."

"You're protecting yourself. You're protecting *her*."

He stopped, sighing. "It's always about her with you. Sibling rivalry even from beyond the grave. It's pathetic."

"She's not my sister."

The words hung in the air.

Marcus stared at her. For a second, his face was blank. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips.

"Took you long enough," he said softly.

He lunged.

Elena threw the folder at his face. Papers exploded into the air—the will, the email, the lies—fluttering like snow.

Marcus batted them away, but the distraction bought her a second. She scrambled around the desk, making for the door.

He caught her by the wrist. His grip was bruising, iron-hard. He yanked her back, spinning her around.

"You really thought you could outsmart me?" he hissed, his face inches from hers. "You? The woman who couldn't even keep a goldfish alive without a spreadsheet?"

"I kept *him* alive," she spat, and she kicked him. Hard. In the shin.

He grunted, his grip loosening just enough. She wrenched her arm free and bolted into the hallway.

She didn't run for the stairs. She ran for the front door. She needed help. She needed a witness.

Through the frosted glass of the entryway, she saw movement. A shape trudging through the snow, bent against the wind.

Mrs. Gable.

The neighbor. The old woman who watched everything from behind her lace curtains. She was carrying a covered dish. A casserole.

Elena threw herself at the door, fumbling with the locks. Deadbolt. Chain. Latch.

"Mrs. Gable!" she screamed, pounding on the glass. "Help me!"

She got the door open just as Marcus grabbed her from behind. The wind roared into the house, blindingly cold.

Mrs. Gable looked up, startled, clutching her Pyrex dish. She was ten feet away, standing by the gate.

"Elena?" the old woman called out, her voice snatched by the gale. "I brought tuna bake! I saw the lights go out!"

"Call the police!" Elena shrieked, clawing at the doorframe as Marcus dragged her backward. "He's killing us! Call the—"

Marcus clamped a hand over her mouth. He hauled her back into the foyer, kicking the door shut with his foot.

But not before Mrs. Gable saw.

The old woman dropped the casserole. It shattered on the frozen stone, tuna and glass exploding outward.

She pointed a trembling finger at the guest house window, where a shadow was moving.

"I saw her!" Mrs. Gable screamed, her voice cutting through the wind. "I saw the girl in the window! That's not Diana! That's the one from the news!"

Marcus froze.

He looked at Elena, his eyes wide with a new kind of panic.

"The news?" he whispered.

He released Elena’s mouth and grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the kitchen. But his attention wasn't on her anymore. It was on the old woman scrambling for her phone in the snow.

"Get Val," he barked at the empty air.

Elena realized he was wearing an earpiece.

"Val, get to the gate. The neighbor saw you. She knows."