Corbett started planning his revenge in his head. As soon as he had the opportunity, the shit would hit the fan. He had essentially been abducted by the FBI agents, taken to an undisclosed location, not given access to a lawyer, and treated inhumanely. He would sue every branch of the government. Cruel and unusual punishment. What he didn’t know was that all his property was frozen, and the Live-Life-Long company was virtually out of existence.
The drive took about four hours, during which there was no sound of any sort coming from anyone. No cell phones ringing, no radio noise. The moaning had stopped. It was a long, dark journey to parts unknown.
When the vans pulled up to Myra’s farmhouse, everything was eerily quiet except for the sound of the gravel beneath the tires. The men unloaded the vans one at a time to assure that neither prisoner knew the other was there. Corbett was removed first. His warders uncuffed the shackles from the bolt, pulled him out of his seat, and steered him to the back door of the kitchen, the same kitchen where Charles prepared the luscious food he cooked. But Corbett would not be a dinner guest. Not ever, and probably not anywhere else ever again. Myra nodded at the guards, Avery Snowden’s more muscular employees, indicating they could leave. Kathryn grabbed Corbett’s arm and walked him down the stone steps.
On the other side of the basement, where the underground tunnels were hidden, there were two rooms. Dungeons would be a better description. Each had one bare lightbulb, a thin mattress, and a bucket for urinating and defecating. The setup was much the same as the men’s previous accommodations, except a little smaller. Kathryn put Corbett in one of the closet-sized spaces, told him to sit down, and informed him that someone would be back shortly.
Once the first van pulled away, the second one delivered Steinwood. Avery’s men released the shackles from the bolt and pulled him out. Myra and Annie watched as Kathryn yanked him down the same set of stone steps and saw him to his own private accommodations.
The sisters gathered in the kitchen. A late dinner would soon be served. They hooted when Charles let them know that Steinwood and Corbett were indisposed and would not be joining them. He had prepared a special stew for them.
Annie pulled out a few bottles of Dom Pérignon champagne. “We aren’t finished yet, but we are in the homestretch. We accomplished a heck of a lot in a very short time. I think a toast to the final act is appropriate.” Maggie gave her a high five, and the rest followed suit. She popped the corks and poured the contents of the bottles into coffee mugs. Myra smiled. She loved to do things in a proper manner, but Annie was spontaneous, and the mugs were the closest things to the fridge. “Here’s to us! The best bunch of sisters anyone could have!”
Cheers and whoops came from the group, setting off Lady and her pups, who yapped in agreement.
The sisters were hanging about the kitchen when Maggie asked Charles, “So, what kind of stew?”
“The expression ‘a taste of their own medicine’ would fit here, since that medicine is, indeed, a part of the recipe,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, causing the sisters to cackle with glee. “Tonight will be the Adderall cuisine.” He pointed to the mortar and pestle sitting in the butler pantry. “A little more than a pinch should do.” More hooting and laughing came from the girls. “And tomorrow phenobarbital will be the plat du jour.”
Myra explained they were going to put Steinwood and Corbett on the same roller-coaster ride they had inflicted on their trusting patients.
Annie chimed in with the entertainment part of the program. “Isabelle and Nikki created a video loop they’ll be forced to watch twenty-four/seven as they take their mind-bending rides. Fergus and Charles installed sixty-inch TV screens on all four walls of each cell. It will be bigger than life. Our version of an IMAX theater.” She couldn’t help but giggle. “We’ll show you the video after dinner.”
“Speaking of dinner, the coq au vin is ready.” Charles took a short bow and motioned to the buffet. The chicken had been prepared to perfection, along with the egg noodles, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. A side of crumbled bacon was there for anyone who wanted to use it to garnish the chicken.
As the sisters filled their plates, they chatted about their day, significant others, hobbies, and the news. From the upbeat mood of the room, no one would suspect they were holding two despicable men several feet below. But not unexpectedly for the sisters, that was exactly the mood they would be in knowing that they had put an end to terrible wrong-doings and that justice would be served—literally.
An hour later, the kitchen was spick and span. Not a crumb in sight. This time it took less than twelve minutes. The women scrambled to the war room to watch the video Isabelle and Nikki had produced, and saluted Lady Justice as they entered.
Once everyone was seated, Charles fired up all the monitors. The first shot was the front page of the Post, with the headline BITTER PILL! There was an accompanying photo montage of Corbett, taken after he had spent two nights in his cell. He looked exactly like someone who had slept in a box with a bucket of human waste. To say he resembled a derelict would be an insult to the derelicts of the world. There was no sign of a cashmere blazer or ascot, gold cuff links, or Italian leather. Steinwood had a similar look but with much more fear in his eyes. The only footage they had of Marcus was the police photo taken at the scene where he was found. He looked like a smashed pumpkin, only white.
The video continued with images of the arrests and the raids on the offices, including shots of the FBI helicopters circling the warehouse in Michigan. The audio was snippets of newscasters from all over the country and headlines: LIVE-LIFE-WRONG! PILL MILL BUST! DR. DRUGS! FRAUD IN THE HAMPTONS! Every major network and its local affiliates were covering the story. You couldn’t turn on the television without seeing the raids on the various locations and the arrests. In the case of Marcus, the press covered the ambulance ride from the scene of his beating to the hospital. There was still no word on who was responsible.
The video was almost five minutes of police raids, helicopters, newscasters, and medical correspondents, interspersed with the recent third-day grunge photos of Steinwood and Corbett, interspersed with the mangled Marcus. They would be forced to watch the same five minutes of their undoing over and over while their bodies were being pumped with their homemade “supplements.” The sisters would keep them on this regimen until the men wished they were dead. They were less concerned about Marcus’s fate. He would have to avoid Franny O’Rourke, even with a constable outside his door. Franny had a lot of contacts. Almost as many as Annie, but not quite, and certainly not in the same circles.
The sisters watched the video several times, while Charles and Fergus went back to the kitchen to fetch the special stew Charles had prepared. A huge round of applause and fist pumps filled the room.
“Woo-hoo!” Kathryn bellowed. “Do you think we can enter this in a film festival?”
Everyone hooted.
Myra was the first to speak. “I would like to be the one who pulls the duct tape off Corbett’s face.”
“And I want Steinwood,” Annie chirped.
“And we want to watch,” Maggie said with glee.
“Me toos” from all around the table.
Charles stood. “Shall we begin?” He handed Myra the remote control that would start the video loop in the cells. There was also a closed-circuit camera in each cell that would record Corbett and Steinwood; and anyone could get a live look at any time.