Helen walked into the Gallagher dining room at precisely 8:00 AM. She wore a crisp white button-down shirt and black slacks, her face washed clean of the night's sweat and adrenaline.
Fredy sat at the head of the long mahogany table. When he saw her, he stretched his lips into a wide, entirely fake smile.
"Helen, my dear," Fredy said, his voice dripping with forced warmth. "Did you sleep well? Is the New York air agreeing with you?"
Sylvia sat to his right. She gestured to a maid. "Bring Helen a French omelet. She needs to put some meat on those bones."
Helen didn't look at the food. She pulled out a chair and sat down slowly. Her face was completely devoid of expression.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, yellowed photograph. She tossed it onto the polished wood. It slid across the table and stopped right next to Fredy's plate.
It was a picture of a young Fredy standing next to Alverta Kramer, Helen's mother. They looked happy.
The moment Fredy's eyes locked onto the photo, his fake smile froze. The muscles in his face twitched.
His hand jerked violently. He knocked over his porcelain cup, sending scalding black coffee spilling across the pristine white tablecloth.
Sylvia saw the photo. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking sickly pale. Her eyes darted around the room in panic.
Candice looked back and forth between her parents, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What is that? Why are you acting so weird?"
Helen leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms. She watched Fredy's panic with cold, surgical detachment.
"It's amazing," Helen said, her voice low and steady. "How easily you sleep in this house. Considering you bought it by selling out my mother's family when the Kramer company went bankrupt."
The words hit the room like a bomb. It was the ugliest, most heavily guarded secret of Fredy's rise to power.
Fredy slammed his hands on the table and shot to his feet. His face was dark red, the veins in his neck bulging. "Shut your mouth!" he roared, spit flying from his lips.
The mask of the loving father was entirely gone, replaced by the cornered, vicious animal he truly was.
Helen didn't flinch. She stared right back at him, her eyes cutting into him like shards of ice. "Screaming doesn't change the fact that you're a traitor, Fredy."
Sylvia jumped up, grabbing Fredy's arm. She glared at Helen with pure hatred. "You ungrateful little bitch! We took you out of the gutter!"
Helen shifted her gaze to Sylvia. "You're just a thief living in a stolen house."
Candice let out a high-pitched shriek of rage. She grabbed her heavy crystal water glass and raised her arm, aiming to hurl the freezing water right at Helen's face.
Helen didn't move to block it. She just looked at Candice.
Helen didn't move, just raised her eyes to meet Candice's. Her gaze was completely dead, devoid of any emotion, as if she were looking at an inanimate object rather than a human being. The sheer, unnatural stillness in Helen's posture, combined with a faint, chilling smirk, made Candice feel like she had just been targeted by a striking viper. Candice gasped, her psychological terror causing the air to leave her lungs. Her wrist went entirely numb with a sudden, overwhelming dread. The heavy crystal glass slipped from her trembling fingers and crashed onto the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces.
The dining room fell dead silent. The only sound was Helen's fingernail lightly tapping against the mahogany table.
Helen stood up. She smoothed the front of her shirt. "I've lost my appetite."
She reached over, picked up the photograph, and walked out of the room without looking back.
Fredy collapsed back into his chair. His chest heaved. His eyes narrowed, burning with a dark, calculating malice.
