Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Nest
Unaware that Ryan had already seen the unedited footage of their crime, Patricia and Brianna were sitting in the spacious, sunlit living room of Patricia’s penthouse on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.
They were drinking wine.
“Are you sure the phone was destroyed?” Brianna asked, nervously chewing on her manicured thumbnail as she paced across the Persian rug. “What if the doctors find out she was hit?”
“Calm down, Brianna,” Patricia said smoothly, taking a slow sip of Pinot Noir. “The phone was submerged in water for over an hour before the paramedics found her. The hard drive is fried. As for the physical injuries, premature births often involve internal complications. Any mark on her body can easily be attributed to her hitting the marble kitchen island when she fell.”
“And Ryan?” Brianna asked. “What if he believes her?”
Patricia let out a dismissive, arrogant scoff. “Ryan is my son. I raised him. I’ve manipulated him his entire life to believe that blood family comes first. Clara is just a girl from upstate New York with no political standing or family money. Once I show Ryan the forged document showing she agreed to share the trust, he’ll realize she was trying to hoard his assets.”
Suddenly, the front door of the penthouse slammed open.
Ryan walked in.
He was still wearing his tailored business suit from Singapore, but his tie was pulled loose, his shirt was rumpled, and his eyes were bloodshot, dark, and filled with a terrifying, hollow anger.
“Ryan!” Patricia gasped, putting her wine glass down and springing from the sofa with fake, trembling arms wide open. “Oh, my poor boy! You made it back so quickly! Have you been to the hospital? It’s a complete nightmare, Ryan! Clara has lost her mind—she’s accusing your sister of—”
SLAP!
The force of Ryan’s backhand sent Patricia stumbling backward into the glass coffee table, shattering two wine glasses as she collapsed onto the carpet, clutching her bleeding lip in sheer, unadulterated shock.
“Mom!” Brianna screamed, rushing to her mother’s side, staring at her brother in absolute horror. “Ryan! Are you crazy?! What is wrong with you?! You just hit your own mother!”
Ryan stood over them, his broad shoulders rising and falling with heavy, jagged breaths. He didn't look like the gentle, quiet businessman they had manipulated for years. He looked like a man who had stared into hell and brought it back with him.
“You hit my wife,” Ryan said, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with an intensity that made the hair on the back of Brianna’s neck stand up. “You punched an eight-months-pregnant woman in the stomach. You left my children to die on the kitchen floor.”
Brianna’s face drained of every drop of color. “Ryan… no… she’s lying to you! She fell! We tried to help her—”
Ryan reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a tablet, and threw it onto the floor in front of them.
The video was playing on a continuous loop.
The audio echoed loudly through the quiet, luxurious apartment:
“Your water broke? You should have signed!” Brianna’s voice blasted from the speaker as the footage clearly displayed her striking Clara, dragging her by her hair, and Patricia casually dropping the phone into the water.
Patricia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her face turned ash-gray. The web of lies she had constructed over decades dissolved into dust in a single second.
“Ryan…” Patricia stammered, scrambling backward on her hands and knees away from her son. “Ryan, listen to me… she was taking you away from us! She was controlling your money! We did it for the family! We did it for you!”
“You didn't do it for me,” Ryan hissed, tears of rage finally spilling down his cheeks. “You did it because you are greedy, narcissistic, evil parasites. My daughter is in an incubator fight for her life. My son has a bleeding liver because of your fist, Brianna.”
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Ryan stepped forward, looming over his cowering sister.
“The police are waiting downstairs in the lobby,” Ryan whispered. “And I personally handed the District Attorney the unedited file fifteen minutes ago.”
