Chapter 3

Arthur Stone was 78 years old, but he moved with the unyielding purpose of a man half his age. He took his own car, ignoring his driver, and sped toward the marina where the "Aura" yacht was docked. The party was winding down, guests in expensive clothes trickling onto the dock, their laughter echoing in the night air.

He found David and Victoria in a private lounge on the upper deck. The door was slightly ajar. Arthur paused outside, his hand on the handle, when he heard their voices. He stopped, listening.

"...a bit of a buzzkill, wasn't it?" Victoria was saying. Her voice was light, dismissive. "Her timing is just so dramatic. Classic Sarah."

"Tell me about it," David slurred slightly. He'd clearly been drinking. "Always has to make everything about her feelings. 'Ethan is dead.' So theatrical. She's probably just trying to ruin my night."

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. He pushed the door open.

David and Victoria jumped. Victoria was perched on the arm of David' s chair, her hand on his shoulder.

"Father? What are you doing here?" David asked, his annoyance clear.

"I came to see my son," Arthur said, his voice dangerously low. "The one who just lost his own child and is sitting here getting drunk with this... woman."

David stood up, swaying slightly. "Don't you talk about Victoria that way. And don't believe Sarah's hysterical nonsense. She's unstable. She's making it up to blackmail me, to ruin my success."

"You think she's lying?" Arthur asked, his voice incredulous.

"Of course I think she's lying!" David shouted. "She's jealous! She sees me winning, with a real partner, and she can't stand it! She'd say anything to tear it down!"

Arthur' s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from the family's long-time physician, Dr. Alistair Finch, whom Arthur had called in a panic on his way over. He had asked Finch to make official inquiries, to bypass the low-level hospital staff and get the truth.

Arthur looked down at his phone. He read the message. Then he read it again. He looked up at his son, his face a mask of horror.

"The doctor just texted me, David. The official report from the coroner's office."

He held up the phone.

"Ethan is dead. Cause of death: acute cerebral hemorrhage. Brought on by extreme psychological distress and a forced, non-medical electroshock procedure administered at the institute."

The words fell into the silent room like stones.

"Electroshock...?" David whispered, the color draining from his face. "No. No, they said... they said it was 'neuro-alignment therapy.' Victoria said it was safe. Just... positive reinforcement."

He turned to look at Victoria, his eyes wide with the first flicker of true fear.

Victoria' s practiced smile wavered. "It... it's a cutting-edge technique, David. For stubborn cases. It just... aligns the creative pathways. It's not what it sounds like."

But the truth was there, in the room, undeniable and monstrous.

While this was happening, I was on the phone with Dr. Finch myself. He had called me to deliver the news personally, his voice thick with grief. He had known Ethan since he was a baby.

"Sarah... the coroner found burns on his temples. Small, but distinct. The procedure they used... it was barbaric. It's not therapy. It's torture. It overloaded his system. His little body just... gave out."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. A strange calm settled over me. I felt my body go cold, my vision sharpen.

When I hung up, I doubled over, a silent, guttural sob wracking my body. The physical pain in my chest was immense, a crushing weight. I collapsed onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth in the empty, silent house. My son was tortured to death. For a brand. For a stock price. For ambition.

Back on the yacht, Arthur watched his son crumble.

"My boy..." David choked out, stumbling backward into his chair. "My little boy..."

Arthur stepped toward the door, his face etched with a grief so profound it looked like a prophecy. He looked at me, though I wasn't there. He looked at the empty space and spoke to the future.

"I told him," Arthur whispered to the empty air, his voice shaking with a terrible, ancient sorrow. "I told him our family has a debt. That the women of your line, the Miller women... they are not to be crossed. Especially not like this. He has broken a covenant that has stood for generations."

He looked back at his son, who was now just a broken man staring at his hands.

"You have brought a curse upon this house, David. A curse you can't even begin to imagine. She will not stop. And everything you have built will turn to dust."

He turned to leave, but paused to look at me again, as if seeing a ghost.

"I am so sorry, Sarah. I beg you, do not forsake us all for his sins. Don't leave. The family needs you."

But I was already gone.