The Mafia Boss’s Twins Screamed Every Night at Three—Until the Maid Tore Open Their Teddy Bear and Exposed the Family Member Behind It

By sunrise, the rain had cleared, leaving the Hamptons estate glistening under a crisp morning sun.

In the basement workshop beneath the east wing, Rory’s private technical specialist—a quiet, pale man named Chen—lay the disassembled electronic bear core under a high-powered digital microscope.

Rory and Veronica stood over his shoulder.

"It’s not off-the-shelf hardware," Chen reported, adjusting the zoom focus on his monitor screen. "This emitter uses proprietary sub-audible chips manufactured by Vextron Dynamics—a defense contractor based out of New Jersey."

"Can you trace the serial number?" Rory asked, his voice low.

"The serial number was etched off with acid," Chen said. "But the transmitter module has a hardcoded MAC address for remote diagnostics. It was transmitting encrypted telemetry data every night over a cellular band."

"To where?"

Chen tapped his mechanical keyboard rapidly. A series of green code lines cascaded across the screen before resolving into an IP address and a physical location.

"A cloud server hosted in Manhattan," Chen said. "Paid for via a shell company named Apex Horizon LLC."

Rory looked at Frank, his trusted enforcer standing by the door. "Run Apex Horizon."

Frank left the room. Ten minutes later, he returned with a printout.

"Apex Horizon is registered to a corporate lawyer in Midtown," Frank reported. "The primary beneficiary on the corporate filings is Richard Thompson."

Veronica caught her breath. "Susan’s husband."

Rory took the paper from Frank’s hand. His grip crumpled the heavy bond paper into a tight ball.

Richard Thompson was Rory’s chief corporate attorney—the man who held the power of attorney documents for the Starks family's legitimate real estate portfolio worth over two hundred million dollars.

"They weren't just torturing the girls," Veronica realized aloud. "They were breaking you, Mr. Starks. If you were declared mentally unfit or distracted by a fake psychiatric emergency, Richard and Susan would step in as legal guardians of the estate."

"They wanted my daughters committed to a private facility," Rory whispered, the horrifying truth settling into his blood. "Two weeks ago, Susan suggested an asylum in upstate New York. She said the girls needed 'specialized psychiatric isolation.'"