Chapter 4 - The Quarantine
I spent the entire night parked in my car at the end of the driveway, drinking cold coffee and finalizing my absolute revenge.
I had hired a specialized environmental hazard crew to arrive at the lake house just before dawn on Friday morning.
They did not just put up a few warning signs, they completely wrapped the entire exterior of my beautiful home in a massive, thick yellow fumigation tent.
The heavy plastic tarp was plastered with terrifying, legally binding biohazard stickers warning of extreme toxic black mold exposure.
They bolted heavy wooden barricades across the front porch and wrapped the main gate in thick, industrial steel chains.
I paid the crew double their usual rate to completely disappear before the morning sun broke over the horizon.
I drove to a small diner a few miles down the road, ordered a large stack of pancakes, and placed my cell phone squarely on the table.
I watched the digital clock on my screen slowly tick past nine in the morning, knowing exactly what was about to happen.
At exactly nine-fifteen, my phone screen illuminated with an incoming call from my father.
I let it ring three times to build his anxiety before casually swiping the green button to accept the call.
My father screamed into the phone so loudly that the waitress at the diner actually turned around to stare at me.
He demanded to know what the hell I had done to the house and why there were toxic hazard signs covering the windows.
I took a calm, deliberate bite of my pancakes and swallowed before speaking in a perfectly flat, emotionless tone.
I told him that the property had been condemned by the county health department due to a catastrophic toxic mold infestation in the drywall.
My father completely lost his mind, cursing violently and claiming that I had intentionally ruined their entire family vacation just to be spiteful.
I reminded him that it was my property, and it was highly illegal to cross a county-mandated quarantine barrier.
He screamed that he did not care about my stupid laws, and he was going to rip the yellow tent down with his bare hands right now.
I smiled into the phone, wishing him the best of luck with his demolition project, and ended the call abruptly.
I opened my laptop on the diner table and logged into the live feed of the hidden security cameras I had mounted in the trees.
My father, my mother, and twenty other people were standing in my driveway, staring angrily at the massive yellow plastic tent.
My father aggressively grabbed a pocket knife and violently slashed a massive hole directly through the thick biohazard tarp.
He kicked the wooden barricade aside, forced the front door open with a crowbar, and proudly marched his guests into the house.
They were expecting to find a fully furnished luxury vacation home ready for a weekend of heavy drinking and celebrating.
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Instead, they stepped into a completely hollow, echoing wooden box devoid of a single piece of furniture, plumbing fixture, or lightbulb.
The entire group froze in absolute shock, but their confusion quickly turned to pure terror as the hidden police officers stepped out of the shadows.
