“Don’t Come In – Get Out Right Now!” The Maid Yelled. I Ran – And Just Five Minutes Later…

Chapter 3: The Sanctuary in Santa Fe

Maria’s cousin’s house was in a small town about three hours from the city, near Santa Fe. It was a simple place with dirt roads and people who still left their doors unlocked at night.

Beatrice, a woman in her 70s, welcomed me as if we were old friends. She asked few questions when Maria vaguely explained that I needed a place to stay for a few weeks.

“Any friend of Maria’s is a friend of mine,” she said, showing me the back room of the house with an iron bed and floral curtains that reminded me of my grandmother’s house. “Stay as long as you need.”

That first night, sitting on the porch under a starry sky you never saw in the city, I tried to put my thoughts in order. I listened to the recordings Maria had given me and examined the photographs of the documents.

Each piece of evidence was more disturbing than the last. Julian had meticulously created a scheme to take over not only the stocks that belong to Emily, but also properties that were in my name.

There was a forged will with my supposed signature, leaving everything to Emily in the event of my death. There were other documents: transfers, powers of attorney, all with forgeries of my signature just waiting for dates to be filed.

But the most terrifying part was hearing my own daughter’s voice on those recordings. It was a voice I barely recognized, mechanically agreeing with Julian and repeating rehearsed phrases.

Phrases about how I always controlled her, how I never supported her, and how I deserved to be alone. It was like hearing his words coming out of her mouth, as if he were a ventriloquist and she his puppet.

The next morning, I picked up my phone to call Benjamin, my lawyer and lifelong friend. But I hesitated.

What if Julian was monitoring my calls? What if he found out where I was?

I decided to be more cautious. I used the landline at Beatrice’s house to call from a number Julian wouldn’t know.

“Elizabeth?” Benjamin answered, surprised. “Where are you? I’ve called your cell several times.”

“I… I needed to get out of town for a few days,” I answered vaguely. “Benjamin, I need your help, but it has to be discreet.”

I explained the situation as concisely as possible without going into detail over the phone. Benjamin listened in silence, occasionally asking pointed questions.

“This is serious, Elizabeth,” he said finally. “If you have proof of what you’re saying, we need to go to the police immediately.”

“Not yet,” I replied, remembering Maria’s warning. “Julian has contacts. We need to be strategic.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“I need more concrete evidence. Something that can’t be ignored or covered up.”

Benjamin was silent for a few seconds.

“I have a friend with the Feds. Someone outside the local circle. I can talk to him without mentioning names yet.”

“Do that,” I agreed. “In the meantime, I need you to do something for me. Go to my apartment and look for a blue folder in the back of my closet. There are important documents in there.”

“Is your spare key still in the same place?”

“Yes, with Mrs. Davis in 302.”

In the following days, I settled into a routine at Beatrice’s house. During the day, I helped with chores to keep my mind busy.

At night, I went over the evidence, taking notes and connecting the dots. Maria sent me short messages from a prepaid phone, updating me on the situation at the house.

“Julian is nervous, asking about you. Emily seems confused. I heard an argument. He’s making strange calls. He mentions ‘Plan B’.”

Each message increased my anxiety. What was this “Plan B,” and how was Emily reacting to my disappearance?

Part of me wanted to run back, confront them, and demand explanations. But another part knew that would be suicide.

If they were really planning to kill me, showing up without a plan would only speed up the process. On the fourth day, Benjamin called me.

“I managed to talk to my contact at the Feds. He’s interested in the case, but he needs more details. And Elizabeth… I went to your apartment.”

The tone of his voice alarmed me.

“What happened?”

“Someone was there. The place was tossed. The blue folder… I couldn’t find it.”

My blood ran cold. The folder contained original documents for the properties, the stocks, and legitimate wills.

It was my insurance in case anything happened to me.

“They’re one step ahead of us,” I murmured. “Is there more?”

Benjamin continued.

“There’s an investigation into you.”

“What? What kind of investigation?”

“It seems someone reported irregularities at the bookstore. Tax evasion, money laundering. It’s completely absurd, but it’s in motion.”

Julian’s strategy was becoming clear. If I showed up, it would be to face criminal charges—a public scandal that would make it easier to take everything I had built.

“And Emily? Did you manage to talk to her?”

Benjamin sighed.

“I tried. She’s not answering my calls. I went to her house, and the security guard wouldn’t let me in. Said she wasn’t receiving visitors.”

The situation was getting worse faster than I imagined. They weren’t just trying to erase my financial existence, but my reputation as well.

It was a perfect trap. If I stayed hidden, I’d lose everything. If I showed up, I’d be arrested.

“We need to act faster,” I decided. “Your contact with the Feds, can he start an investigation without alerting the local police?”

“Possibly, but he’d need concrete proof.”

“I have recordings, photographs of documents. Is that enough to start?”

“Maybe. I’ll check.”

When I hung up, I realized Beatrice was at the kitchen door, watching me with concern.

“Serious problems, aren’t they?” she asked, sitting at the table with me.

I nodded, not going into detail. She took my hands in hers, wrinkled by time and work.

“You know, dear, when I was young, my husband used to hit me every day for anything. I thought I deserved it. That’s just how things were. Until one day he hit our son. That’s when I realized it wasn’t about me. It was about him—about the power he wanted to have over us.”

I looked at her, surprised by the sudden confession.

“What I’m saying,” she continued, “is that sometimes we need to see someone we love get hurt to understand that we’re being hurt, too. Your daughter is in danger, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But she doesn’t see it because he won’t let her see.”

“That’s how they work. They isolate, they control, they make the person doubt their own judgment. And by the time you finally wake up, it’s already too late.”

“How did you escape?”

Beatrice’s face lit up with a sad smile.

“I didn’t escape. He died. Had a heart attack during one of his fits of rage. God has a peculiar sense of humor, doesn’t he?”

She stood up, adjusting her apron.

“But you can still save your daughter and yourself.”

When she left, I stayed thinking about her words. Maybe Beatrice was right; maybe the problem had never been between Emily and me.

It was Julian who had created this divide, feeding it with lies and manipulation. And if my daughter was repeating those horrible phrases about me, it wasn’t because she believed them, but because he had programmed her to say them.

That night, I got a message from Maria that changed everything.

“He’s planning to take her. I heard him talking about a house overseas. He says, ‘The two of you will never see each other again.'”

Take her where? Why? The question swirled in my mind.

If Julian managed to get Emily out of the country, I really might never see her again. And if he had already managed to transform her so much in just two years, what would he do when he had her completely isolated with no one to question him?

I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t trust the legal system to act in time.

My daughter was in immediate danger, even if she didn’t realize it. I needed to get her out of Julian’s grasp before it was too late.

I grabbed my phone and called Benjamin.

“Change of plans,” I said as soon as he answered. “We’re not waiting for the formal investigation. We need to act now.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“An extraction,” I replied, surprised by the firmness in my own voice. “We’re going to get my daughter out of that house, and you’re going to help me.”