The Police Visit

The library was a scene of controlled chaos. Constance stood by the fireplace, her face a mask of pale fury as the speakers in the ceiling continued to broadcast the damning audio loop.

*"She's disposable. She can't have kids anyway. Mother wants her gone."*

The voice of her son, confessing his sins to a federal agent, echoed through the room like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

"Turn it off!" Constance shrieked at the security team. "Cut the power!"

"We tried, ma'am," the head of security said, frantic. "It's not responding. It's an external override."

"Then rip the speakers out of the walls!"

In the foyer, the heavy oak doors swung open.

A uniformed officer stepped in, followed by two paramedics. "We received a call," the officer said, his hand resting on his holster. "Reports of a disturbance. A woman screaming."

Constance straightened. She smoothed the front of her dress, her eyes flicking to the staircase where Thorne was dragging an unconscious Elena down the steps.

"Officer," Constance said, her voice dropping into a register of practiced concern. "Thank goodness you're here. We've had a terrible incident. My daughter-in-law... she's had a psychotic break."

She gestured to Elena, whose head lolled against Thorne’s shoulder.

"She tried to set the house on fire," Constance said. "My son... he tried to stop her, but she was violent. Dr. Thorne had to sedate her for her own safety."

The officer looked at Elena. He looked at the smoke still curling from the upstairs hallway. He looked at Julian, who was slumped in a chair, weeping into his hands.

It was a perfect tableau. The grieving family. The dangerous, unstable outsider.

"Is she injured?" the officer asked.

"Just minor scrapes," Thorne said smoothly. "But she needs immediate psychiatric evaluation. I've already arranged a bed at St. Jude's."

"St. Jude's?" the officer frowned. "That's a private facility."

"We want the best for her," Constance said. "Despite everything."

The audio loop suddenly cut out. Silence rushed back into the room, heavy and suffocating.

One of the security guards gave Constance a thumbs up. He had cut the main breaker.

"We'll need to take a statement," the officer said. "And we'll need to see the fire damage."

"Of course," Constance said. "But please, let the doctor take her. She's a danger to herself and others."

The officer hesitated. He looked at Elena again. She was limp, defenseless.

"Alright," he said. "Get her out of here."

Thorne nodded. He signaled to the paramedics. They loaded Elena onto a stretcher, strapping her down with heavy leather restraints.

Constance watched them wheel her out. She didn't look at Elena’s face. She looked at the tablet Thorne had placed on the side table—the one he had pulled from under the vanity.

"Destroy it," she whispered to the security guard. "And then find the girl. If Elena put that code in, Maya knows how to take it out."

The officer turned back to her. "Ma'am? About the fire?"

"Yes," Constance said, turning her back on the door. "Let me show you what she did to my home."

As the ambulance doors slammed shut outside, Constance smiled. It was over. The loose end was tied up. The narrative was secured.

But she didn't see the tiny red light blinking on the security camera in the corner of the ceiling.

The camera Elena had looped.

The camera that was now broadcasting a live feed directly to a server in a repair shop in North Charleston.

And to the inbox of the FBI.

The officer nodded, closing his notebook. "Let her rest. We'll close the file."