Chapter 4 - THE DINNER PARTYThe storm outside had intensified by seven o'clock that evening, howling off the Long Island Sound and rattling the stained-glass windows of the grand dining room.
A long mahogany table was set with crystal stemware, fine silver, and a centerpiece of dark red roses.
Sitting at the head of the table was Rory Starks, wearing a charcoal-grey tailored suit, looking every bit the ruthless billionaire harbor Don.
Sitting to his right was Susan Vance.
Susan was thirty-four, impeccably dressed in a silk emerald gown, her blonde hair styled in a tight bun. She possessed the same soft facial structure as her dead sister Claire, but where Claire’s face had been warm and kind, Susan’s eyes were cold, sharp, and constantly calculating.
Sitting across from her was Maya.
Maya had been stripped of her maid’s uniform. She was now dressed in a simple, elegant dark blue dress provided by Rory’s personal stylist, her dark hair pinned back neat and professional. Rory had introduced her as "Miss Vance"—a distant relative of Claire’s family hired as the children’s private educational tutor.
Susan picked up her crystal glass of champagne, her hand remarkably steady.
"Rory, darling," Susan said, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. "You look exhausted. How are the girls tonight? Did Dr. Andrews give you his diagnosis?"
Rory took a slow sip of his aged bourbon. "Dr. Andrews was very thorough, Susan. He believes the girls need specialized, long-term care away from the estate."
A faint, victorious glimmer flashed in Susan’s green eyes before she quickly masked it with a sigh. "Oh, poor sweet angels. I told you, Rory, this house has too many dark memories of Claire. It’s breaking their little minds. Letting Dr. Andrews take them to the Easton Institute is the best thing you could ever do for them."
"Is it?" Maya spoke up quietly from across the table.
Susan turned her sharp gaze onto Maya, her lips curling into a condescending smile. "I’m sorry, Miss... Vance, was it? You’re a tutor, aren't you? I don't think pediatric neurology is quite within your purview."
"Pediatric neurology, no," Maya replied smoothly, setting her fork down. "But hardware design is. Tell me, Miss Vance... how much did Victor Moretti promise you once the shipping titles were transferred?"
The silence that followed was so sudden, so absolute, that even the sound of the wind outside seemed to vanish.
Susan’s champagne glass froze halfway to her lips.
"I... I beg your pardon?" Susan whispered, her face draining of color.
Rory didn't move. He sat back in his chair, watching his sister-in-law with the cold, detached interest of a scientist observing an insect under a microscope.
"Victor Moretti," Rory repeated softly. "He bought your gambling debts in Atlantic City three months ago, didn't he, Susan? Two point four million dollars owed to the syndicate. He offered to wipe the slate clean if you planted Mr. Honey in my daughters' bedroom."
Susan set her glass down with such force that champagne spilled over the pristine white tablecloth. She stood up, her chair screeching against the parquet floor.
"This is outrageous!" Susan shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Maya. "Rory, who is this woman?! She’s insane! I am your dead wife’s sister! I loved Claire! I love those children!"
"You tortured them," Rory said.
His voice wasn't raised, but the sheer, crushing weight of his tone made Susan’s knees buckle. She had to grab the edge of the mahogany table to keep from falling.
"You put a military infrasonic pulse generator inside a stuffed animal and watched my six-year-old daughters claw their ears until they bled," Rory continued, rising slowly from his chair. He walked around the table until he stood inches from her. "Every morning, when I called you crying because I didn't know how to save them, you sat on the phone and told me to trust Dr. Andrews."
"Rory... please..." Susan began to weep, tears smearing her expensive mascara. "They threatened me! Victor said he would kill me if I didn't do it! I had no choice!"
"You always had a choice," Maya said, standing beside Rory. "You could have come to their father. He could have protected you. But you chose your money over two motherless little girls."
Susan looked frantically toward the grand double doors of the dining room, expecting her usual escape route.
The doors swung open.
Brant walked into the room, holding a heavy black satellite phone in a clear plastic evidence bag.
"Mr. Starks," Brant reported. "We traced the relay signal from the marina. Victor Moretti’s yacht just unmoored from Slip Fourteen. He’s heading out toward international waters in the Sound."
Susan let out a strangled gasp. "He’s leaving! He promised he would take me with him once the papers were signed!"
Rory looked at Susan with pure, unadulterated coldness.
"Victor Moretti isn't going to international waters, Susan," Rory said softly. "Because his captain works for me."
May you like
Rory reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a small tactical transmitter, and handed it to Maya.
"Maya," Rory said. "Show her what happens when you control the frequency."
