Chapter 4 - The Scripted Collapse
At 8:00 a.m. the following morning, the sun rose over the Hamptons in a dull, gray haze.
To the outside world, the Starks estate appeared to be falling apart.
Word had "leaked" to the staff and local estate managers that Rory Starks had suffered a complete nervous breakdown overnight. Rumors were circulating that his twin daughters were being prepped for emergency admittance to a private psychiatric facility in Manhattan following another catastrophic night of panic attacks.
Inside the study, Rory sat in his leather armchair, looking noticeably disheveled. His tie was loosened, his hair uncombed, and dark circles had been expertly applied beneath his eyes by a theatrical makeup artist Marek had brought in at dawn.
Standing near the desk, holding a cup of coffee, was Aunt Susan.
She wore a cashmere cardigan and a look of deep, performative grief, her eyes glistening with rehearsed tears as she looked down at Rory.
"Oh, Rory," Susan crooned, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "You look completely exhausted. You can't keep doing this to yourself. Look at what this stress is doing to you... and to those sweet little girls."
Rory leaned his head into his hands, his voice sounding hollow, broken, and defeated. "I don't know what to do, Susan. The doctors... they say it's an irreversible psychological trauma. They want to institutionalize them for six months."
Susan’s eyes flashed with a momentary spark of cold triumph before she quickly covered her face with a silk handkerchief.
"Maybe... maybe the doctors are right, dear," Susan whispered softly, leaning closer. "Maybe they need specialized care away from this house. This house has too many memories of my poor sister. It’s too big, too dark. And you... you have your business to run. People are saying you missed the port authority vote yesterday."
"The ports don't matter anymore," Rory mumbled into his hands, acting out the role of a shattered father perfectly. "Nothing matters if I lose my girls."
"Of course, darling," Susan soothed, gently stroking his arm. "Listen to me. Why don't you let me take over the estate management for a few weeks? You take the girls up to the cabin in Maine. Get away from the city. Let Richard Mercer take over the port leases temporarily—just to take the financial pressure off your shoulders. You can sign over the proxy voting rights to me today, and I'll handle the lawyers."
Hide hidden behind the bookshelf, Veronica watched through a two-way mirror, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe. The sheer, shameless villainy of the woman was astonishing. She was offering to sell her own family down the river while pretending to hold their hands.
Rory slowly lifted his head, looking up at Susan with eyes that appeared filled with pathetic, desperate relief.
"You would do that for me, Susan?" Rory asked, his voice trembling slightly. "You would handle the proxy papers?"
"Of course, Rory," Susan smiled warmly, pulling a thick stack of legal documents from her leather handbag. "I had my personal attorney draft the temporary power of attorney papers this morning. Just to save you the hassle. All you need to do is sign on the marked lines."
She set the papers on the desk, handing him a heavy silver pen.
Rory took the pen. He looked at the signature line.
Then he looked up at Susan.
The tired, broken expression vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a gaze so cold, so terrifyingly sharp, that Susan’s smile froze mid-air.
"You know, Susan," Rory said smoothly, setting the pen down with a quiet, deliberate click. "Your sister always told me you were terrible at reading people."
Susan’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Rory? What... what are you talking about?"
Rory reached under the desk and pulled out a heavy black electronic tablet. He tapped the screen once.
A high-definition audio recording began to play through the room’s surround-sound speakers.
“Is the frequency set to three a.m.?” Susan’s voice echoed through the study, crystal clear, recorded three nights prior.
“Yes, Mrs. Miller,” a man’s harsh voice replied over the recording. “The acoustic driver will trigger precisely on schedule. The children won't be able to sleep for more than two hours a night. Within two weeks, Starks will be too unstable to sign the port renewals.”
“Good,” Susan’s recorded voice replied cold-bloodedly. “Make sure the battery holds out. I want him broke and desperate by the end of the month.”
Susan’s face didn't just lose color; it went ash-gray. Her handbag slipped from her fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, spilling lipstick and compacts across the rug.
"Where... where did you get that?" she gasped, taking a frantic step backward.
The heavy oak doors of the study swung open.
Marek stepped inside, followed by two armed security officers and two detectives from the New York State Police Special Investigations Division.
"Susan Miller," the lead detective said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit child abuse, illegal electronic surveillance, and corporate extortion."
Susan turned to run toward the French doors, but Veronica stepped out from behind the mirror door, blocking her exit with a cold, immovable glare.
"You monster," Veronica whispered, looking Susan right in the eyes. "They were six years old."
May you like
As the police officers grabbed Susan’s arms, clicking the steel cuffs over her wrists, she began to scream hysterically. "Rory! Please! It was Richard! He threatened me! He forced me to do it! You can't do this to me, I'm family!"
Rory didn't even stand up. He simply watched her being dragged down the hallway, her pathetic shrieks echoing off the marble floors until the front door slammed shut, sealing her fate forever.
