He turned and walked away before I could ask anything else.

His footsteps faded into the darkness of the pier.

I looked at the plastic card in my hand.

“We need to go to the house,” I said.

“Vivian, it’s a risk,” Diane said.

“I have medicine in that house,” I said. “And my original portfolio drawings.”

Diane sighed and unlocked the sedan.

“Get in,” she said.

We drove in silence up the winding roads of Harbor Point.

The houses here were massive, quiet fortresses behind tall hedges.

Our home sat at the end of a private cul-de-sac overlooking the ocean.

As we approached the iron security gates, I saw a white security vehicle parked in the driveway.

It was not our usual neighborhood patrol.

Diane stopped the car fifty feet from the gate.

“Look,” she said.

A man in a black tactical vest stood near the intercom box.

I rolled down my window and felt the cold sea breeze on my face.

“Let me try the service gate,” I said.

I got out of the car and walked along the stone wall to the side pedestrian entrance.