Chapter 3 Accidental Live Stream

# Chapter 3: Accidental Live Stream

Seven o'clock came and went. Nina stood at the top of the staircase, her body tense, waiting for Ernest's accomplice to appear. But the mansion remained silent save for the steady tick of the grandfather clock counting seconds that, in another life, she would never have experienced.

After ten minutes of vigilant waiting, Nina began to wonder if perhaps the accomplice had been instructed to enter through another part of the house. Or maybe they were waiting for a signal from Ernest—a signal that would never come now that he was unconscious.

She moved cautiously through the upper hallway, checking windows and doors, but found no sign of intrusion. Returning to the master bedroom, she cracked open the door to find Ernest exactly as she'd left him—slumped against the headboard, the empty scotch glass tilted in his limp hand. His breathing was deep and regular. He wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

Nina retrieved the glass carefully, making sure to wipe it clean of her fingerprints before placing it firmly back in Ernest's hand, positioning his fingerprints exactly where they needed to be. Evidence. Everything now was about evidence.

The immediate danger seemingly passed, Nina's mind turned to the next phase of her plan. Ernest would eventually wake up, and when he did, he would be desperate to cover his tracks. She needed to ensure that whatever happened next would expose him completely.

Nina made her way downstairs to Ernest's study—a room she was rarely allowed to enter without him present. The large oak desk dominated the space, meticulously organized as always. Ernest was nothing if not methodical in his cruelty.

She sat in his leather chair and booted up his computer. The password prompt appeared, and Nina smiled to herself as she typed in "VanessaMay14"—his sister's name and birthday. Ernest had always been predictably sentimental about the few people he actually cared about.

Once inside the system, Nina began searching through his files, looking for anything that might connect him to the planned murder. But Ernest was too careful for that—there was nothing obviously incriminating on his main computer.

Nina leaned back in the chair, thinking. If she were Ernest, where would she hide the most damning evidence? Her eyes drifted to the expensive bottle of red wine sitting on the credenza behind the desk—a 1982 Bordeaux they'd been saving for their upcoming anniversary. An anniversary Ernest had never intended for her to see.

Anger flashed through her. With deliberate slowness, Nina stood, walked to the credenza, and picked up the bottle. She examined it for a moment, appreciating its value, before abruptly turning and letting it slip from her fingers.

The bottle crashed onto the hardwood floor, shattering spectacularly. Deep red wine splashed across the antique Persian rug—Ernest's prized possession, a family heirloom worth more than most people's cars.

"Oops," Nina whispered to the empty room, a small smile playing on her lips.

She stared at the spreading stain for a moment, watching as the expensive wine soaked irreversibly into the delicate fibers. Ernest would be furious. The thought gave her a warm glow of satisfaction.

But this wasn't just petty revenge—it was strategy. The ruined rug would need immediate attention if there was any hope of saving it. And Nina knew exactly where Ernest kept his special cleaning supplies.

She made her way to the kitchen and picked up the house phone, dialing the extension for the master bedroom. After several rings, she heard Ernest's groggy voice.

"Hello?"

"Ernest, darling, I'm so sorry to wake you," Nina said, injecting concern into her voice. "But there's been an accident in your study. I knocked over that special Bordeaux, and it's all over your grandfather's rug."

There was a moment of silence, then: "You did what?" The fury in his voice was unmistakable, even through the haze of sedatives.

"I'm so sorry," Nina repeated, making her voice small. "I know how much that rug means to you. Don't you have some special cleaner in the basement? The one you used when I spilled coffee last month?"

She could hear Ernest struggling to gather his thoughts, the drugs still heavy in his system.

"Yes... in the basement storage room. Left shelf, blue bottle. Need to... need to use it quickly or the stain sets."

"I can't find the key to the basement," Nina lied smoothly. "Where did you put it?"

"My desk drawer," Ernest mumbled. "But I'll do it... just give me a minute to get up."

"No, no," Nina insisted. "You were so tired earlier. I can handle this. Just rest. I'll take care of everything."

She hung up before he could protest further. Moving quickly now, she retrieved the basement key from Ernest's desk drawer, exactly where he said it would be. Then she returned to the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the sink, finding the bottle of animal stimulant she had discovered weeks ago.

Ernest had purchased it for the hunting dogs he kept on their country estate—a powerful stimulant meant to enhance the animals' senses during hunts. Nina had found the receipt and researched the substance, discovering it could be dangerous or even fatal to humans in high doses.

At the time, she had worried he was planning to use it on her somehow. Now, it would serve her purposes perfectly.

Nina took the bottle and headed for the basement door located off the kitchen. The heavy oak door creaked as she unlocked it, revealing a steep set of concrete stairs descending into darkness. She flipped on the light switch, illuminating the utilitarian space below.

The basement was rarely used except for storage and housing some of the mansion's utilities. Ernest preferred to spend his time in the more opulent areas of the house, making this the perfect place for what Nina had planned.

She descended the stairs and made her way to the storage area, quickly locating the blue bottle of specialized cleaner on the left shelf, just as Ernest had said. Nina opened it and poured a generous amount of the animal stimulant inside, swirling the bottle to mix the contents. Then she placed it prominently on the center shelf where Ernest would easily find it.

Next, Nina moved to the far corner of the basement where the security system's hub was located. Ernest had installed an extensive surveillance system throughout the property after their marriage—ostensibly for security, but Nina had always suspected it was primarily to monitor her movements.

She examined the control panel, noting the feeds from various cameras throughout the house. One camera in particular caught her attention—the one monitoring the basement storage area. Perfect.

Nina had worked in IT before her marriage to Ernest. A career he had insisted she abandon, claiming a Blackwood wife didn't need to work. Now, those skills would prove invaluable.

She carefully accessed the system settings, navigating through menus until she found what she was looking for—the network configuration for the security cameras. With methodical precision, Nina altered the settings, redirecting the basement camera's feed to broadcast to a public streaming address rather than just the internal security system.

To complete her setup, she used her phone to create a new streaming account under the name "RealHouseDrama" and linked it to the camera feed. Then she set the stream to go live with a provocative title: "Husband's Secret Basement Activities - LIVE."

As a final touch, she adjusted the camera angle slightly to ensure it would capture the entire storage area, including the shelf where she had placed the doctored cleaning solution.

Nina checked her watch: 7:30 PM. Ernest would be growing impatient by now, possibly fighting through the sedative effects to try to make his way downstairs. She needed to hurry.

Climbing the basement stairs, Nina paused at the top. She could lock the door from the outside with the key, ensuring that once Ernest entered the basement, he would be trapped. But that wasn't enough—he could still call for help on his phone.

She needed something more compelling to ensure he would use the contaminated cleaner.

Returning to Ernest's study, Nina surveyed the wine stain on the rug. It had spread significantly, the deep burgundy liquid seeping into the intricate pattern of the antique Persian. The damage was substantial but not yet irreparable—if treated immediately.

Nina took out her phone and snapped several photos of the ruined rug, then made her way back upstairs to the master bedroom. She found Ernest sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, clearly fighting the effects of the double dose of sedatives.

"Ernest," she said softly from the doorway. "I found the key, but the stain is getting worse. Look." She held out her phone, showing him the photos of his beloved rug.

Ernest's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he saw the damage. "You clumsy..." he began, then seemed to catch himself. Even in his drugged state, he was careful to maintain his facade of the loving husband. "It's... it's fine. I'll take care of it."

"I found the cleaner in the basement," Nina said. "The blue bottle, like you said. I left it out on the center shelf for you."

Ernest nodded, struggling to his feet. "Good. I need to apply it immediately or the rug is ruined."

"Do you want me to help?" Nina asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

"No," Ernest snapped. "You've done enough. I'll handle it myself." He staggered slightly as he moved toward the door, the sedatives making his movements uncoordinated.

Nina stepped aside to let him pass, her face a mask of wifely concern. "Be careful on the stairs," she called after him. "You still seem a bit unsteady."

She waited until she heard his heavy footsteps descending the main staircase before returning to the study. There, she used Ernest's computer to access the stream she had created, confirming that the basement camera was indeed broadcasting live. The feed showed an empty storage room, waiting for its unwitting star to arrive.

Nina minimized the window but left it running. Then she took out her phone and began sending messages to several of Ernest's business associates and friends—people who had always seen only his charming public persona.

"Ernest wanted me to share this interesting livestream with you," she wrote, attaching the link. "He's working on a special project in our basement."

After sending the messages, Nina returned to the kitchen and watched through the basement doorway as Ernest made his way unsteadily down the stairs. He disappeared from view as he reached the bottom, but she knew the camera would be capturing his every move now.

Quietly, Nina closed the basement door. The lock clicked with a satisfying finality as she turned the key, trapping Ernest inside.

She returned to Ernest's study and maximized the livestream window. The camera showed him in the storage area, searching the shelves until he found the blue bottle she had left for him. He examined it briefly before tucking it under his arm and turning to leave.

That's when he would discover the door was locked.

Nina refreshed the stream page and noticed with surprise that there were already twenty-seven viewers watching. The messages she had sent were working faster than she'd anticipated. She settled into Ernest's leather chair, watching as the drama began to unfold.

On screen, Ernest returned to the bottom of the stairs, the cleaning solution in hand. He climbed the steps, only to find the door wouldn't open. He tried the handle repeatedly, then began pounding on the door.

"Nina!" his muffled voice called from the basement. "The door is stuck! Can you hear me?"

Nina didn't respond. Instead, she watched the viewer count on the stream tick upward: forty-two... fifty-one... sixty-eight...

Her phone buzzed with a text from one of Ernest's business partners: "Is this some kind of joke? Why is Ernest locked in your basement?"

She didn't reply. Let them wonder. Let them watch.

On the screen, Ernest was now trying to call someone on his phone. Nina smiled, knowing that the basement's concrete walls blocked most cellular signals—another fact she had discovered during her time in the mansion.

Ernest seemed to realize this too, as he angrily shoved the phone back into his pocket and returned to the storage area. The camera captured his growing frustration as he paced back and forth, occasionally shouting for help that wouldn't come.

Finally, he seemed to remember why he had come down there in the first place. He looked at the cleaning solution in his hand, then back at the locked door, seemingly weighing his options. After a moment of consideration, he opened the bottle and sniffed its contents.

Nina leaned forward, watching intently. The animal stimulant she had added was odorless and colorless, designed to be undetectable when mixed with the dogs' food. Ernest would have no way of knowing the cleaner had been tampered with.

On screen, Ernest set the opened bottle on a small table and began removing his suit jacket, preparing to tackle the cleaning job despite his predicament. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the expensive watch Nina had given him for his birthday—a gift he had insisted on despite her protests about the extravagant price.

Nina glanced at the viewer count again: one hundred and twenty-three people were now watching Ernest Blackwood, respected businessman and secret would-be murderer, unknowingly prepare to poison himself in his own basement.

The stream's chat function was filling with confused messages:

"What am I watching?"

"Is this some kind of performance art?"

"That's Ernest Blackwood! What's he doing locked in a basement?"

Nina smiled as she typed a response from the account she had created: "Welcome to the show. Things are about to get interesting."

On screen, Ernest dipped a cloth into the doctored cleaning solution and began to apply it to a test patch of fabric he'd found on the shelf—always methodical, even in crisis. As the liquid soaked into the cloth and began to make contact with his skin, Nina knew it wouldn't be long now.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eight times. One hour since Nina should have died. Instead, she was watching her would-be murderer's own demise begin to unfold, broadcast live to an ever-growing audience.

And no one would ever suspect the grieving widow of foul play.