Chapter 4 - The Bait
Rory did not move immediately.
In the world of organized crime and corporate warfare, a quick strike was amateurish. A master pulled the net tight before the prey realized they were caught.
"We keep the routine," Rory commanded. "No one speaks of this. To the staff, to the guards, to anyone."
"What about the bear?" Veronica asked.
"Chen," Rory turned to the technician. "Can you reassemble the casing without the acoustic emitter? Keep the red indicator blinking, but kill the sound completely?"
"Easy," Chen nodded. "I can substitute the sonic core with a silent dummy load. It will draw power and blink, but emit zero sound waves."
"Do it," Rory said.
He turned to Veronica.
"You have been a maid in this house for six months, Veronica," Rory said, his dark eyes studying her face. "You earned three thousand dollars a month cleaning my floors. Why didn't you walk away when the screaming started?"
Veronica held his gaze calmly.
"I lost my younger sister to leukemia five years ago, Mr. Starks," she said softly. "I know what it looks like when a child is sick. And I know what it looks like when someone is hurting them. I don't leave children in dark rooms."
Rory looked at her for a long, silent moment. The coldness in his eyes softened into something rare and profound: genuine gratitude.
"You stay close to my daughters," Rory said softly. "From this moment, you aren't the maid. You are their personal guardian. You report directly to me."
At 2:30 p.m. that afternoon, a luxury silver Mercedes pulled up the long gravel driveway of the Hamptons estate.
Susan Thompson stepped out.
She was forty-two, dressed in a flawless cream linen suit with pearl earrings, carrying an expensive leather handbag and a box of organic pastries. Her smile was warm, practiced, and dripping with maternal concern.
"Rory, darling!" Susan called out as she walked into the foyer, handing her coat to the butler. "How are my sweet angels today? Did the specialist from Johns Hopkins call back?"
Rory met her at the bottom of the grand staircase, his face a perfectly constructed mask of exhausted despair.
"No," Rory said, rubbing his eyes, acting the part of a defeated father. "They had another episode at three a.m. It was worse than yesterday, Susan. I don't think I can keep them here much longer."
Susan’s eyes flashed with a tiny, hidden spark of triumph before she quickly covered it with a sympathetic frown.
"Oh, Rory... I told you," Susan said gently, taking his arm. "It breaks my heart, but you have to be strong. Richard found that private clinic in Westchester. They have round-the-clock psychiatric care. We can sign the guardianship transfer papers tomorrow... just until you get your strength back."
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"Maybe you're right," Rory sighed, looking down. "Maybe I should let you and Richard handle it."
"Of course I'm right, darling," Susan purred softly. "We're family."
