Chapter 5 - The Box Under the Oven
Elena waited until dark.
Then she unplugged the bakery’s oldest oven.
Mateo watched her kneel, reach behind a rusted side panel, and slide the brass key into a lock he had never noticed.
A narrow compartment opened beneath the oven base.
Inside sat a black metal cash box.
Mateo lifted it onto the prep table.
“What did Grandpa put in here?”
Elena rubbed both hands over her apron. “He never told me. He only said if Mercer ever came for the bakery, I should open it.”
“Mercer meaning Wade?”
“His father.”
That landed differently.
Mateo unlocked the box.
Inside were property maps, old tax records, a cassette tape, two ledgers, and a photograph of six men standing beside the food stand when it was still a gas station.
One of them was Mateo’s grandfather, Rafael Morales.
Another was Wade’s father, Earl Mercer.
A third man wore a county sheriff’s uniform.
Mateo flipped over the photo.
A date was written on the back.
1998.
Below it: LAND ACCESS DEAL — NEVER SIGNED.
Elena pulled out a folded map.
The bakery sat on a narrow strip of land beside Route 18.
Behind it ran an old service road leading to hundreds of acres of undeveloped desert.
Mateo frowned. “Who owns this?”
“Different families. Or they used to.”
He opened the ledger.
Names.
Parcel numbers.
Dollar amounts.
Beside several entries was the same handwritten letter: M.
Mercer.
Then he found Elena’s name.
No amount beside it.
Only a note.
HOLDOUT.
Mateo looked up.
“Elena, your bakery isn’t the target.”
“I know.”
He turned the map toward her. “This access road is.”
She nodded.
“Your grandfather refused to sell because the road crosses our parcel. Without this strip, nobody gets legal access to the land behind us.”
Mateo stared at the map.
“How much land?”
“Almost nine hundred acres.”
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text message.
He opened it.
A photo filled the screen.
It showed his rental truck parked behind Elena’s house.
Another message arrived.
LOOK INSIDE.
Mateo’s stomach dropped.
They ran outside.
The driver-side window was smashed.
May you like
And on the passenger seat lay the black metal box.
Empty.
