The team moved up the path to the mansion's front entrance. Agent Samsa pressed the doorbell once, then again, a second, more insistent chime echoing inside. There was no response, no sound of approaching footsteps.
He raised his voice. "Mr. McAllen, this is Agent Samsa from the FBI. Open the door."
Still silence.
One of the tactical officers shifted his weight, gesturing subtly toward the lock, suggesting a breaching charge. But before Samsa could give the order, they heard a series of clicks from the other side. Someone was disengaging the deadbolts.
The heavy oak door swung inward to reveal a young woman in a crisp maid's uniform, her eyes wide with confusion. "S-sorry, I was at the back, cleaning the pantry," she stammered, her gaze darting nervously between the armed agents on the doorstep. "H-how can I help you?" She clearly hadn't been expecting a federal raid with her morning chores.
