A car like his did not belong there.
Neither did a man in a designer suit.
Finally, the GPS told him he had arrived.
Emiliano stared at the small house in front of him.
If it could even be called a house.
It was made of gray concrete blocks.
The roof was sheet metal, held down by old tires so the wind wouldn’t tear it away.
There was no electric gate.
No garden.
No marble.
Only a rusted wire fence and a wooden door that looked like it might fall off its hinges.
Doors& Windows
He felt disgust rise in his chest.
Then anger.
“How dare she steal from me,” he thought.
He stepped out of the Mercedes, adjusted his expensive jacket, and walked toward the door with his fists clenched.
The wooden door was slightly open.
He stopped.
Through the crack, he saw Rosa inside.
