Chapter 4 - The Silk and the Serpent
Sunday morning sunlight flooded the Hamptons estate, turning the manicured lawns into brilliant expanses of emerald green and golden dew. The air smelled of salt spray, wet grass, and blooming hydrangeas.
At exactly 10:00 a.m., the crunch of expensive tires on the circular gravel driveway signaled the arrival of a sleek white Mercedes SUV.
Susan Thompson stepped out onto the stone steps with practiced grace. She looked every bit the picture of upper-crust grief and benevolent aunthood: tailored beige linen trousers, a cream silk blouse, oversized Gucci sunglasses that hid any trace of age, and a warm, practiced smile curving her lips. In her manicured hands, she carried a flat, white pastry box tied with a familiar silver ribbon.
She pressed the brass doorbell with the confidence of someone who owned the world.
Inside the grand foyer, Rory Starks stood motionless by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching her approach. He wore a dark grey cashmere sweater and black slacks, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms. Behind him stood Vince, his head of security—a heavily built man with a broken nose and eyes like chipped flint—and Veronica, who stood quietly near the library doors holding a silver tray with fresh black coffee.
“Let her in,” Rory instructed, his voice as cold as winter stone.
The heavy oak front door swung open before Susan could knock a second time.
Susan beamed as she stepped into the cool, vaulted marble foyer. “Rory, darling!” she chirped, stepping forward to offer an air-kiss to his cheek. “You look exhausted, sweetheart. Did the girls have another rough night? I brought those almond croissants from Manhattan you all love so much. And I have a wonderful new child psychologist I want you to call—she specializes in chronic infant insomnia.”
Rory didn't move an inch. He didn't offer her a seat. He didn't take the box of pastries.
Susan’s brilliant, rehearsed smile faltered slightly. She lowered her arms, her designer sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose as her sharp eyes darted between Rory’s stony expression, Vince’s rigid stance near the door, and Veronica standing by the hallway.
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“Rory?” Susan asked, her voice dropping its high, socialite cadence. “Is something wrong?”
“Susan,” Rory said, his voice like grinding granite. “Step into the study.”
