Chapter 2: The Performance
The heavy oak doors of the foyer swung open. David, Mrs. Ashford’s son and the heir to the family shipping conglomerate, walked in, carrying a silver suitcase—his latest contract documents. He froze.
The scene was devastating: Sarah was on the floor, clutching her arm, weeping in pain. Mrs. Ashford was shaking, her eyes wide with terror. And Cynthia? Cynthia was standing over them, her face instantly melting into a mask of hysterical panic.
"David! Thank God!" Cynthia shrieked, dropping the cane and clutching her own chest. "She just snapped! I walked in, and she was beating Aunt Clara! I tried to stop her, but she lunged at me!"
David’s face darkened. He looked at his mother, then at Sarah, who was struggling to articulate a defense through the searing pain in her arm.
"Is this true, Sarah?" David asked, his voice low and dangerous.
May you like
Sarah tried to stand, her face pale. "No... David, she—"
"Save it!" Cynthia interrupted, her voice gaining confidence as she saw David’s hand move toward his phone to call the police. "I saw her do it! She’s been stealing from the estate for weeks, and I think she finally decided to finish it before anyone found out!"
