Chapter 4 - The Flying Monkeys
By seven in the morning, the silence of our apartment was shattered by the unrelenting vibration of Ethan’s phone against the kitchen counter. It buzzed with the frantic, insect-like persistence of an impending swarm.
Ethan picked it up, glanced at the caller ID, and hit speakerphone without hesitation.
"Ethan Vance Sterling, what on earth have you done?"
The voice belonged to Aunt Evelyn, Patricia’s older sister—a woman whose sanctimony was matched only by her loyalty to Patricia’s social dominance. Her voice was shrill, trembling with theatrical indignation.
"Good morning, Aunt Evelyn," Ethan answered coldly.
"Do not use that flippant tone with me!" Evelyn barked. "Your mother is sitting in a holding cell like a common criminal! Do you have any idea the humiliation she is enduring? The Bennett family saw the police report! The country club board is already whispering! You need to go down to the second precinct right this second, drop these ridiculous fabricated charges, and apologize to your mother on bended knee!"
"She struck my wife three times in front of our daughter, Evelyn," Ethan replied, his tone ice cold. "There is video evidence. There are medical records. And Dad was standing right there."
There was a microsecond of hesitation on the other end, followed by a disdainful scoff. "Your father is a drunkard and an invalid who hasn't had a coherent thought in two decades! Patricia sacrificed her entire youth nursing him, managing his family’s mess, and protecting you from your own pathetic inadequacies! And you throw her to the wolves for that low-class, gold-digging girl from upstate?"
Before Ethan could answer, Robert reached over, clicked the microphone button on the phone, and spoke with an authority that practically rattled the device.
"Evelyn," Robert said, his voice dropping into a register so dark and calm it commanded total silence. "This is Robert."
The line went completely dead for five full seconds.
"R-Robert?" Evelyn stammered, the vicious arrogance draining instantly from her tone.
"Patricia didn't protect me, Evelyn. She spent thirty years sedating my voice and stealing my father's legacy. And as for you—I know about the offshore accounts in Grand Cayman bearing your name. I know about the four hundred thousand dollars moved out of Lily's trust into your boutique in Charleston."
A sharp intake of breath whistled through the phone speaker.
"If you ever call my son again, if you ever utter Claire's name with disrespect, or if you dare step within fifty feet of my granddaughter, I will hand those transaction receipts directly to the IRS criminal investigation division before lunch. Do you understand me?"
"Robert, you... you wouldn't destroy your own family—"
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Robert tapped the red button, severing the call without another word. He tossed the phone back onto the table.
Ethan looked at his father with a mixture of shock and sheer awe. For his entire life, Robert had been the shadow in the corner, the broken man who drank scotch in the study while Patricia reigned supreme. But the man sitting across from us now was a sleeping giant who had finally awakened, and he was ready to burn his wife's empire to the ground.
