Chapter 1
The afternoon sun poured through the massive bay windows of the estate’s guest room, bathing the luxurious space in brilliant, bright colors. The natural light highlighted the crisp, pristine whites of the crown molding and the rich emerald hues of the heavy drapes. Yet, the warmth of the cinematic lighting starkly contrasted with the horrific scene unfolding on the imported Persian rug.
Hattie Coleman, forty-four years old and dressed in an impossibly elegant designer outfit, stood with her weight shifted onto her expensive heels. Her fair, rosy skin was pulled taut in a vicious, sadistic smile. In her manicured hands, she held the thick nylon strap of a heavy dog leash. The other end of that leash was looped tightly around the frail shoulders of an eighty-year-old woman.
Donna Coleman, the elderly mother of the most powerful man in the city, gasped for air. Dressed in a simple pastel blouse, a soft cardigan, trousers, and house slippers, the eighty-year-old woman stumbled forward as Hattie violently yanked the leash.
"Move faster, you useless old burden," Hattie snapped, her sharp American accent echoing off the high ceiling. "I am entirely sick of looking at your pathetic face."
With a sudden, violent pull, Hattie yanked the leash backward. Donna lost her footing completely. The elderly woman let out a sharp cry as she fell hard onto her knees, collapsing beside a beautifully woven food basket that had been knocked from a side table. Fresh fruit, warm bread, and a spilled pitcher of water scattered across the expensive carpet, soaking into the fibers.
Hattie threw her head back and let out a cold, vicious laugh. The heavy diamond jewelry at her neck and the wedding ring on her finger caught the bright sunlight as she looked down at her mother-in-law.
"Look at you," Hattie sneered, stepping closer so her heels clicked loudly against the floor. "Beg properly, Donna. Get down on all fours and beg properly, and maybe I’ll let you eat at the table tonight instead of the floor."
"Please, Hattie," Donna wept, her frail hands trembling as she tried to loosen the restrictive nylon loop around her shoulders. "I haven't done anything to you. Why are you doing this?"
From the doorway, Elena Brooks, the fifty-five-year-old estate housekeeper, watched in absolute horror. Dressed in her crisp, professional housekeeper uniform, a white apron, and practical flats, Elena could no longer stand by in silence. Her fair, rosy face was pale with shock.
"Stop it! Miss Hattie, please, you are hurting her!" Elena cried out.
The housekeeper rushed forward, her flats making soft thuds against the carpet as she desperately tried to reach the elderly woman and help her stand.
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Before Elena could even touch Donna’s arm, a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. Michael Coleman, thirty-nine years old and dressed in a crisp dress shirt, trousers, and polished leather shoes, stepped out from the shadows of the room. He grabbed Elena by the arm with brutal force and forcefully shoved the fifty-five-year-old housekeeper backward.
"Keep your hands to yourself, Elena," Michael barked, his American accent laced with cruel authority. "My sister-in-law is simply teaching the old woman some much-needed discipline. Know your place, or I'll have you thrown out onto the street without a dime."
