I was about to turn, to run, to flee this nightmare with whatever shred of dignity I had left, when a low thrumming sound began to vibrate in my chest.

It grew louder. A rhythmic chopping noise that deepened into a roar.

“What in God’s name…” Patricia muttered, shielding her eyes against the sun.

A maid, Emily, rushed out onto the lawn, pointing upward. “Mrs. Van Derlyn! A helicopter!”

A sleek, obsidian-black helicopter banked sharply over the estate, the downdraft whipping the scattered flowers into a frenzy. Dust swirled. The noise was deafening, drowning out Patricia’s outraged shouts.

The machine descended, landing right in the center of the great lawn, crushing the pristine grass Patricia prized above all else.

The rotors slowed. The side door slid open.