Chapter 3 Sea-View - Patricia O'Neil

June of 2003

Patricia O'Neil grew up in a nonviolent atmosphere. She never had to fight or earn a thing. Everything was handed to her. Limos to school. Sheltered. All her activities were heavily monitored with an iron-clad fist. Her bedroom had no doors, no mirrors. No privacy. Being born into a hidden system of wealth wasn't what it was cracked up to be. Her parents raised her to be a bougie over thinker and overachiever. Never speak to anyone that was beneath you. Despite your black skin, you're not a color, baby. You can be any color you so desire. What if I want to be white…? Then you can be white, darling! Her mother's words would be her Scarlet Letter. Her moneyed parents were seedy, celebrated District Attorneys (with perfect records in the courtroom) by day and ruthless industrialists by night. Their ninety-six-mile island (Goudy Island) was self-sufficient, with a shopping mall, nine grocery stores, five hospitals, an Army base, a fire department, and top-notch technology. There was an enormous reserve of water, vegetation, and wildlife. Zebras, wild cats, elephants, nutrias, lions, and huemuls were plentiful. An hour by speedboat or helicopter returns you to its shore home with dockage and a helipad at a Club House in California. There was an airstrip for private jets and Concordes. Currently, the island features one main sea-view mansion. It was the size of twenty football fields. There were forty bedrooms with private entrances, eleven caretaker’s cottages, and eleven furnished apartment complexes with generational wealthy multi-millionaires as tenants. Actual military men serve as security. Four separate police stations were scattered about. A mega-church set in the heart of the island, where Pastor Damon Gouty-O’Neil, Patricia’s father, served as minister. There were two nine-acre lots used for private prisons. Tucked away on thirty acres of secluded land (south of the mega-church) was Gouty Estates, where Patricia lived. Jobs were plentiful. Mindless humans ran the ports… Through crooked means, they succeeded in both the political and business worlds. They sacrificed everyone who helped them rise to the top, both in business and in their personal lives. Addicted to currency to the brink of psychosis. In fact, they were ghoulish psychos that wore Colgate smiles through it all. Patricia had a best friend named Moderna she was allowed to interact with only because of who her elite, seedy parents were. Pat's dad had great business affairs with Moderna's parents, parents Patricia has never met. They come from a long line of wealth dating back to the B.C. era. In fact, they were immune from following sovereign laws. Patricia and Moderna did everything together. They were like real sisters. They gushed over boys, but Moderna was five years older than Patricia. She influenced Patricia in ways that allowed Pat to always keep her guard down. Moderna used to beat up girls in a private school that bullied Pat. They were loyal to each other. So loyal, in fact, Moderna used to steal important, sensitive information on Pat's parents while they soundly slept. All the information, from the security detail, blueprints of the estate, insurance and bank account information, contracts, and incriminating photos, were sent to the Patriarch of her murderous family. A family filled with secret vows, arranged marriages, NDAs, blood oaths, and unnatural rituals has afforded her family generational wealth infinitely. By Pat's graduation day, she was a high school and college graduate within a five-year span. Therapy and psychology were her majors. After she and Moderna obtained their BAs together in business management, they lost touch after Moderna moved away to start her life. What neither of them knew was that their billionaire family pulled some strings, including buying the land the universities and high schools sat on, for those academic doors to open. Both blood families weren’t to be associated with. Rumor has it that Moderna climbed the Airforce corporate ladder with deceitful aplomb. Killed them with a smile. Bedded generals for access. Pat had her Ph. D and her master’s by her twenty-eighth birthday. Therapy sessions with moneyed clients became the very air she breathed. It wasn't until her parents mysteriously died that she was introduced to the Tillian’s: a feared, powerful family dynamic that opened a whole new world of lap and luxury for her. Inherently, she became a mark. Because of her skin color, she was heavily monitored by her family and the authorities. She was chauffeured to Max Tillian’s estate in the Hamptons a few days after her advisor dropped by her high-rise condo in Manhattan unannounced and interrupted her spa session with news of her parent’s untimely demise at an ungodly hour on their seventieth anniversary. As she took in all the wealth, she was ushered into Max’s chambers. The estate sat on two hundred freaking acres of paradise. Well-sculpted trees, rose gardens, and immaculate landscaping was to blush for. They shook hands. Max looked her over like a beam over an unsuspecting deer. "I take it that congratulations are in order, Patricia." Pat's eyes were glazed. "This isn't the right time for cheese and wine. I just lost my parents." Max’s face was blank, yet his eyes seemed to smile. "I'm sorry for your loss." "Thank you. I must say, I'm not quite sure why circumstances led me to your beautiful estate. Why am I here, exactly?" "I am or was one of your mutual acquaintance's advisors and closest friends. Moderna’s parents, as well as friends and business partners with yours. Family, if you will." His temples twitched when he said that empty six-letter word wrought with blood and secrets locked deep in Pandora's box. On his lavish desk, a huge serpent head carved from stone and black marble protruded from the front. Thirty feet in the air in length. In it was her family’s payoff of her college education, things that would land them in federal prison without daylight again. Just think that he literally locked the architects and designers of his property in a steel room and poisoned them to death with CS gas. Their blood was mixed with the black lacquer paint of the cobra, with red scarlet diamond eyes. He grimaced at her like she was nothing. She was confused. "Ok, I see." He finally smiled, like a Cheshire cat. “Do you need anything? How are you holding up? I'm sure you feel like the rug was pulled from under you." She lowered her guard and relaxed. "What am I going to do without them? I'm still building my career as a seasoned therapist. I’ve become a global brand in my own right, outside of their legacy and their money.” I just want to strip her of her rights, enslave her, plant my seeds, and toss them when they’re born to the wolves. He smiled at his twisted thoughts. "Congratulations on winning the prestigious Governors Therapist Medical award. I hear you're the youngest and the first black woman to receive it." "Max, black is just a color. My mother taught me to never let that, nor slavery be a hindrance."