Chapter 3 - Whiskey and Arrogance
Back at the house on Elm Street, the atmosphere in the kitchen was uncomfortably relaxed.
Dennis Hawthorne poured two fingers of aged bourbon into a heavy crystal glass, swirling the amber liquid as he leaned against the granite kitchen island. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms slightly tense, though his face wore the smug, infuriating grin that had charmed half the county.
Serena sat across from him at the kitchen table, nervously twisting a silver ring around her finger. Her hair was disheveled, wrapped loosely in a silk robe she had thrown on after the chaotic morning.
"Do you think she suspects anything?" Serena asked, her voice tight with anxiety. "The hospital called an hour ago. What if Meadow told her?"
Dennis scoffed, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. "Relax, Serena. Meadow is seven years old, concussed, and terrified. Even if she said something, Tori is a pushover. She's spent the last five years buried in that animal clinic, playing nurse to stray dogs while I manage the town's finances. She won't do a damn thing. She'll cry, she'll pack a bag for a night, and by next week, she'll be right back here cooking dinner."
Serena nodded slowly, trying to convince herself he was right. "And the house? The accounts?"
"All set up," Dennis smiled confidently. "Once the dust settles, we'll ease Tori out. Claim she's unstable. With my reputation and her isolation, the courts will hand me everything."
They raised their glasses in a silent toast to their own perceived brilliance, laughing softly as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed three o'clock.
May you like
Suddenly, the heavy front door of the house rattled violently.
Before Dennis could even turn around toward the hallway, the reinforced oak door splintered inward with a deafening crash, the deadbolt snapping clean out of the frame as it was kicked open with brutal, military-grade force.
