Chapter 2: The House of Glass
Alistair stumbled back as the police cruisers skidded onto the gravel, their blue and red lights painting the mansion in a ghoulish, strobing dance. Eleanor emerged from the front doors, draped in silk, a glass of champagne in her hand—a picture of untouchable grace. She stopped dead when she saw the patrol cars.
"Alistair? What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her voice a masterclass in controlled concern.
Alistair looked from his wife to the boy, then to the watch in his palm. He realized then that the "thief" he had been hunting was actually a witness. The police officers didn't approach the boy; they approached Eleanor.
"Eleanor Vance," an officer commanded, pulling a warrant from his vest. "You are under arrest for the kidnapping and long-term extortion of the Thorne-Vance estate."
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Alistair watched his wife’s face—not with love, but with the clinical observation of a man watching a specimen under a microscope. She didn't scream. She didn't protest. She simply tightened her grip on her champagne glass until it shattered, the wine and blood dripping down her manicured fingers.
The mask had fallen, and behind it was a stranger.
