The driveway was dark, but the outdoor floodlights illuminated the front gate.

I saw a pair of headlights turn into the driveway.

A black sedan pulled up to the curb, its wipers sweeping back and forth.

My breath caught in my throat.

The car stopped, and the engine idled, sending a plume of white exhaust into the cold air.

“Is that your delivery?” Derek asked, his voice sharp.

“I believe it is,” I said.

A man in a dark uniform stepped out of the car, carrying a thick, yellow envelope.

He walked up the stone path toward the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Derek said, starting to rise from his chair.

“No, please,” I said, gesturing for him to sit.

“The server can answer the door.”

“It’s my house, Monica,” Derek said, his voice dropping an octave.

“I will handle it.”

“Derek, sit down,” Richard said, his tone authoritative.

“Let the staff do their job.”

Derek hesitated, his body tense, before slowly lowering himself back into his seat.

The doorbell rang, a clear, two-tone chime that echoed through the quiet house.