Chapter 4 - The Cottage on the Ridge
The gravel driveway crunching beneath the tires of my black Mercedes SUV sounded like breaking bones in the crisp autumn night.
The estate groundskeeper’s cottage sat near the western boundary of our property, nestled among a dense cluster of towering silver maples. A single yellow light glowed warmly from the living room window, casting long, crooked shadows across the overgrown lawn.
I killed the engine, but I didn't get out immediately.
In the backseat, Annie sat between the twins, who had woken up during the short drive across the property. She had wrapped them in thick wool blankets, speaking to them in low, soothing murmurs that kept their rising panic at bay.
— Stay here in the car with them, Annie, I instructed, my hand resting on the door handle.
— Mr. Morrison, be careful, she warned, her hand reaching out to touch my sleeve. — Mrs. Higgins has lived on this estate for over twenty years. She knows everyone in local law enforcement.
— Let her call the entire police department, I replied coldly, stepping out into the freezing night air. — Let's see how fast they defend her once I play the audio logs I just downloaded from the nursery server onto my phone.
I strode across the gravel path, bypassing the small wooden porch, and slammed my fist three times against the heavy oak front door of the cottage.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A few seconds later, the lock clicked. The door swung open to reveal Mrs. Higgins, a stout woman in her late fifties with iron-gray hair pulled back into a severe bun, wearing a floral apron over a woolen cardigan.
Her expression of mild annoyance vanished instantly the moment she saw my face.
— Mr. Morrison! I... I didn't expect you back from the office tonight, she stammered, her hands instinctively clutching the fabric of her apron. — Is everything alright with the boys?
— Step aside, Mrs. Higgins, I said, my voice dropping into a tone so flat and terrifying that she instinctively took two steps backward.
— Sir, you can't just barge into my private residence without—
I pushed past her, stepping into the cramped, meticulously tidy living room. The television was playing a daytime soap opera on mute. On the kitchen counter sat a steaming mug of chamomile tea and an open tablet displaying a live financial portfolio tracker.
— Where is the master control fob for the nursery locks? I demanded, turning to face her as she scurried back inside, her face turning the color of curdled milk.
— I... I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Morrison, she blustered, trying to puff up her chest with indignant authority. — Those electronic locks are standard safety protocol approved by your previous estate administrator to—
I pulled my smartphone out of my pocket, tapped the screen twice, and held it up like a weapon.
Through the small built-in speaker of my phone, the terrifying, bone-chilling sound of screeching semi-truck tires, shattering glass, and agonizing metal twisting under immense pressure began to echo loudly through the quiet cottage.
Mrs. Higgins turned the color of chalk. Her knees buckled slightly, and she reached out to steady herself against the back of a floral armchair.
— That's audio footage from Tuesday night at 2:15 AM, I said, stepping closer to her until I towered over her shaking frame. — Broadcasted directly into my five-year-old sons' bedroom through your monitoring station.
— It was... it was just a behavioral conditioning tool! she shrieked, her mask of professional competence shattering completely into jagged pieces. — Those boys were wild! They wouldn't sleep! They screamed for hours! I had to find a way to quiet them down so the staff could get some rest!
— You tortured my children, I whispered, the words dripping with a venom I never knew I possessed. — You terrorized motherless toddlers in the middle of the night for your own personal convenience.
— You're a workaholic absentee father! she screamed back, losing all control, her face twisting with bitter malice. — You haven't stepped foot in that nursery before midnight in six months! You don't know the first thing about raising those boys! You just throw money at problems and expect everyone else to clean up your mess!
She was right about one thing. I was an absentee father.
But I was going to fix that starting tonight.
— Pack your bags, Mrs. Higgins, I said, my voice cutting through her hysterical rant like a diamond glass cutter. — You have twenty minutes to clear your belongings out of this cottage. If you are still on this property when the clock strikes eight, I will personally ensure that every criminal charge from wiretapping and child endangerment to psychological abuse is filed against you before dawn. And trust me—my legal team doesn't lose.
She stared at me, her chest heaving, realizing with sudden, absolute terror that her career, her pension, and her freedom had just evaporated in less than sixty seconds.
May you like
Without another word, she turned around and bolted toward her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
I stood in the center of the cottage for a long moment, letting the silence settle around me. Then I turned and walked back out into the cool autumn night, heading toward the waiting Mercedes where my sons were watching me through the tinted rear window.
