Chapter 2 - The Purge
The contrast was sickening. The main living room was a sea of excess. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above a sprawling buffet of catered seafood, expensive champagne, and towering floral arrangements. There were at least fifty people inside my home—local politicians, wealthy socialites, and country club snobs.
They were laughing, clinking glasses, oblivious to the horrors happening just twenty feet away.
I marched directly to the center of the living room, carrying Emily and Leo, who buried their faces in my neck, blinded by the light.
I walked over to the grand piano where a hired musician was playing smooth jazz. I didn't ask him to stop. I kicked the power cord to the amplifier, plunging the room into abrupt, deafening silence.
Fifty pairs of eyes snapped toward me.
“Who the hell are you?” a man in a bespoke tuxedo demanded, stepping forward with a crystal scotch glass in his hand. “Where are the hosts? Beatrice!”
Beatrice and Clara stumbled into the room behind me, looking like they were walking to their own execution.
“I am the owner of this house,” I boomed, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. I didn't care about politeness. I didn't care about making a scene. “And every single one of you has exactly two minutes to get off my property before I lock the gates and call the police for criminal trespassing.”
The room erupted into offended murmurs.
“James, please!” Beatrice cried, running forward, trying to grab my arm. “Don’t do this in front of our friends! We can explain! Emily has been… she’s been unwell! We had to keep her back there for her own safety!”
I looked down at the woman who gave birth to me. The disgust in my eyes made her physically recoil.
“Two minutes,” I repeated to the crowd, completely ignoring her. “Or I start physically throwing you through the front windows.”
When they looked at my face—and the heavy, dust-covered work boots tracking mud across the pristine marble—they realized I wasn't bluffing. Panic set in. The socialites grabbed their designer coats and rushed the front door like rats fleeing a sinking ship. In less than ninety seconds, the house was entirely empty, save for my terrified family and the two monsters who had tortured them.
“James, you have ruined me!” Clara shrieked, suddenly finding her voice as the last guest drove away. “Do you know who those people were? I was networking! I was building a brand!”
I carefully set Emily and Leo down on the plush velvet sofa. I took off my heavy canvas jacket and wrapped it around Emily’s shivering shoulders.
Then, I turned to my sister.
“Where are your keys, Clara?” I asked, stepping toward her.
“What?” she stammered, backing away.
“Your keys to this house. The keys to the Mercedes I bought you. Put them on the table.”
“You can’t do this!” Beatrice wailed, dropping to her knees. “We are your blood! We gave you everything!”
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“You starved my son!” I roared, the anger finally bursting out of me like a dam breaking. “You locked my wife in a concrete room! Get out! Get out of this house with only the clothes on your backs, or I swear to God, I will break every bone in your bodies!”
They fled into the night, barefoot and sobbing, as I slammed the massive mahogany doors shut behind them, locking the deadbolts.
