Chapter 4 Unlocking Donations

# Chapter 4: Unlocking Donations

The viewer count on "RealHouseDrama" had surpassed two hundred when Nina noticed the first signs of the stimulant taking effect. On screen, Ernest was pacing the basement floor, occasionally stopping to rub his temples. His movements were becoming increasingly agitated—quick, jerky motions replacing his usual controlled demeanor.

Nina refreshed the stream page and was startled to see the viewer count jump dramatically: 547 viewers now watched as her husband grew visibly distressed. The chat sidebar was scrolling rapidly with comments:

"Is this guy okay?"

"What am I watching exactly?"

"This has to be staged, right?"

"That's definitely Ernest Blackwood! My company does business with him!"

The recognition was spreading faster than Nina had anticipated. She had expected Ernest's business associates to tune in, but now it seemed the stream was being shared beyond their immediate circle. Social media algorithms were doing their work, pushing the unusual live content to more and more viewers.

Ernest's face had grown flushed, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the basement's cool temperature. He repeatedly checked his phone, growing increasingly frustrated at the lack of signal. Then he returned to the basement door, pounding with renewed vigor.

"Nina!" his voice came through faintly on the stream's audio. "If you can hear me, open this door immediately!"

The chat erupted:

"Who's Nina?"

"His wife, I think."

"Did she lock him in there? LOL"

"This is getting weird..."

Nina watched with clinical detachment as Ernest returned to the storage area and picked up the bottle of cleaning solution again. He stared at it for a long moment, then suddenly hurled it against the wall in a rare display of uncontrolled emotion. The plastic bottle bounced but didn't break, liquid sloshing inside.

The stimulant was working faster than she had expected. Ernest's heart rate would be elevating, his blood pressure rising. The combination of the stimulant and the earlier sedatives was dangerous—potentially fatal if the dose was high enough. But Nina had been careful. She wanted Ernest to suffer, to be exposed, but not to die too quickly.

A notification popped up on the stream: "SiliconValleyVC has sent a $500 tip with message: 'What's going on here, Blackwood? Bad business deal?'"

Nina's eyes widened. She hadn't realized the streaming platform allowed monetary donations. This opened up possibilities she hadn't considered.

On screen, Ernest had moved to sit on the bottom step of the staircase, his head in his hands. Occasionally, his body twitched involuntarily—another side effect of the stimulant. The contrast between this disheveled figure and the immaculately controlled man who had planned her murder was stark.

The viewer count ticked past 800, and more donations began to appear:

"WallStreetBull sent $200: 'Is this some kind of performance art, Blackwood?'"

"TechInvestor49 sent $300: 'Your last quarterly report makes more sense now!'"

Nina's mind raced with the possibilities. The stream was becoming a spectacle, drawing in viewers who clearly recognized Ernest. This was better than she had dared hope—his humiliation would be public and documented.

She opened the streaming platform's creator tools and found the option to set up donation tiers with rewards. Working quickly, she established a series of increasingly expensive tiers:

$10,000: "Reveal why Ernest is locked in the basement"

$50,000: "Release audio of Ernest's final phone calls"

$100,000: "Unlock basement live feed with night vision"

$500,000: "Exclusive audio: Ernest's desperate pleas"

$1,000,000: "Full access: Real-time basement footage"

Nina hesitated before adding the final tier, then decided to push forward with her plan. She typed in the description: "If we reach $1 million in donations, I'll turn on all cameras and microphones in the basement for an uncensored live feed."

She published the donation tiers and watched as the chat immediately exploded:

"What is this, some kind of sick game?"

"Who's running this stream???"

"This has to be illegal"

"$1 million to watch some rich dude in a basement? Pass."

But despite the skepticism, donations began trickling in. $500 here, $1,000 there. Small amounts by the standards of Ernest's wealthy associates, but they were adding up quickly as curiosity overcame caution.

Nina's phone buzzed continuously with text messages from Ernest's contacts asking what was happening. She ignored them all. Let them wonder. Let them watch. Let them pay to see the truth.

On screen, Ernest had removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt collar. His expensive dress shirt was soaked with sweat, his face contorted in discomfort. The stimulant was pushing his body into overdrive, his heart racing dangerously fast.

The viewer count passed 1,000, then 5,000, then 10,000 in rapid succession. The stream had been picked up by a popular news aggregator site, bringing in viewers from across the internet. Donations accelerated as the audience grew:

"MediaMogul sent $10,000: 'Ernest, call me when you're done with... whatever this is.'"

"CryptoKing sent $25,000: 'Best reality show I've seen all year!'"

The total quickly passed $100,000, triggering Nina's third tier reward. She activated the night vision feature on the basement camera, bathing Ernest in an eerie green glow that made his distress even more dramatic.

The chat was now moving so quickly it was almost unreadable, a blur of questions, jokes, and shocked reactions. Nina noticed several comments mentioning that the stream was trending on Twitter, with speculation running wild about what exactly was happening in the Blackwood mansion.

As the donation total approached $500,000, Nina prepared to release the audio file she had promised—a recording of Ernest's frantic phone calls to his accomplice that she had forwarded from his phone to her email earlier. She had edited the audio to highlight the most damning parts, removing any mention of her name to maintain the mystery for the viewers.

The stream counter now showed over 100,000 concurrent viewers. Nina felt a surge of vindictive satisfaction. In her previous life, she had died alone and unwitnessed, her murder disguised as an accident or suicide. Now, Ernest's downfall would be the most public spectacle imaginable.

When the donations hit $500,000, Nina uploaded the audio file with a simple caption: "Ernest's True Nature - Listen Carefully."

The recording played over the stream, Ernest's voice clear and cold: "Make it look like an accident... The insurance policy pays double for accidental death... No, no evidence, just a tragic fall down the stairs... Yes, tonight at 7 PM exactly."

The chat exploded:

"HOLY SHIT"

"Is this a murder confession???"

"Someone call the police!"

"This can't be real"

But it was real, and the viewers knew it. Donations surged as people clamored for more information, more evidence, more of the unfolding drama. The total rocketed toward the final tier—$1 million seemed suddenly achievable as wealthy spectators competed to be part of the unfolding spectacle.

On screen, Ernest had begun to pace again, moving erratically around the basement. His movements were becoming more frenzied, his coordination deteriorating as the stimulant continued to affect his system. He knocked over a shelf of gardening supplies, sending pots and tools clattering to the floor.

The sound must have been loud enough to carry beyond the basement, because Ernest suddenly looked up toward the ceiling with renewed hope.

"Help!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Is anyone there? I'm locked in the basement!"

Nina checked her security app. The grounds were empty, the staff gone for the evening as Ernest had arranged to ensure no witnesses to her "accident." His cries would go unheard by anyone except the growing online audience.

A notification flashed across the screen: the donation total had reached $750,000. Nina hadn't expected it to climb so high so quickly. The final tier was within reach.

Then a single donation pushed the total over the top:

"E.Shorts_Official donated $250,000: 'Let's see everything.'"

Nina froze, staring at the username. E.Shorts_Official—Ernest's deactivated social media handle. The account he had abandoned years ago when he decided social media was "beneath" someone of his status.

Someone was using his old account. But who? Ernest was clearly visible on the stream, trapped in the basement without internet access. It couldn't be him.

The realization hit her like ice water: Vanessa. Ernest's sister must have access to his old accounts. She was watching the stream.

Nina's mind raced. This complicated things. If Vanessa was aware of what was happening, she might alert authorities or send help. But the donation suggested something else—curiosity, perhaps, or even enjoyment of her brother's predicament. The siblings' relationship was clearly more complex than Nina had realized.

Regardless, she had promised a reward for reaching the $1 million mark, and the audience was waiting. Nina activated all the remaining cameras in the basement, providing multiple angles of Ernest's deteriorating condition. She also turned on the basement's built-in microphones, allowing viewers to hear his labored breathing and occasional muttered curses.

The full audiovisual experience of Ernest Blackwood's downfall was now being broadcast to over 250,000 concurrent viewers. His reputation was being destroyed in real-time, his carefully constructed public image crumbling as people watched him unravel.

Nina opened a new browser tab and checked Twitter. #BasementGate and #BlackwoodLive were trending nationally. News sites were picking up the story, though most were careful to frame it as "alleged" and "unverified" to avoid potential legal issues.

She returned to the stream just in time to see Ernest make a discovery that sent a chill down her spine. He had found the basement's circuit breaker panel and was examining it with sudden focus, his earlier disorientation temporarily overcome by the prospect of escape.

If he cut the power, the stream would end, and Nina's carefully orchestrated public exposure would be cut short. She hadn't anticipated this possibility.

But before Ernest could act, his body betrayed him. He doubled over, clutching his chest, his face contorted in pain. The stimulant was putting immense strain on his heart, especially combined with the stress and the lingering effects of the sedatives.

He staggered away from the circuit panel and collapsed onto a storage crate, breathing heavily. Crisis temporarily averted.

Nina decided it was time to directly address the audience. She opened the stream's text interface and typed a message from the RealHouseDrama account:

"Thank you all for your generous donations. You've unlocked the full experience of Ernest Blackwood's evening in the basement. But you might be wondering: why is he there? What did he do?"

The chat scrolled frantically with responses:

"TELL US"

"Is this about the murder plot in the audio?"

"Who are you???"

Nina continued typing:

"Ernest planned a murder tonight. At 7 PM, someone was supposed to die. But plans changed. Now you're all witnesses to the consequences of his actions."

She paused, considering her next words carefully, then added:

"Justice is being served. Keep watching."

The chat erupted again, theories and speculation flying as viewers tried to piece together the full story. Nina sat back, watching both the audience reaction and Ernest on screen. He remained seated on the crate, his condition visibly worsening. His skin had taken on a grayish pallor, and his breathing was becoming increasingly labored.

A notification appeared on the stream dashboard—a private message from E.Shorts_Official:

"I know it's you, Nina. Clever girl. Ernest always underestimated you. I'm enjoying the show, but you should wrap it up soon. Police response time to your neighborhood is approximately 12 minutes."

Nina's blood ran cold. Vanessa wasn't just watching—she was calculating, planning. And she seemed to be suggesting that she was about to call the authorities.

Nina quickly typed a response: "Why would you warn me?"

The reply came seconds later: "We have more in common than you think. Check the prenup addendum again. Carefully."

Before Nina could process this cryptic message, another notification appeared—this one from the streaming platform itself:

"Due to concerns about potential illegal activity, this stream has been flagged for review. It may be terminated in the next 10-15 minutes pending investigation."

Time was running out. The public spectacle was about to end, either through platform intervention or police arrival. Nina needed to move to the next phase of her plan.

She typed one final message to the stream:

"The show is coming to an end, but the story isn't over. Ernest Blackwood thought he could get away with murder. He was wrong. Remember what you saw here tonight."

Then she ended the stream manually, before it could be taken down. The final viewer count stood at 378,542—nearly four hundred thousand witnesses to Ernest's downfall.

Nina closed the laptop and stood, smoothing down her dress. The grandfather clock in the hallway showed 9:15 PM. It had been just over two hours since her scheduled death.

Now it was time to ensure that Ernest's fate was sealed, one way or another. And perhaps to discover what Vanessa had meant about the prenup addendum.

Nina picked up her phone and dialed 911, her voice carefully modulated to convey controlled panic.

"Please help," she said when the operator answered. "I think my husband is having a heart attack. He's locked himself in our basement and I can hear him screaming."

As she gave the address and answered the operator's questions, Nina moved toward the basement door. Ernest's fate now hung in the balance—would help arrive in time to save his life, only for him to face the consequences of his exposed murder plot? Or would the stimulant claim him before help arrived?

Either way, Nina had won. Ernest's reputation was destroyed, his crimes exposed to hundreds of thousands of witnesses. And she was very much alive.

As she ended the call, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

"Well played, sister-in-law. We should meet for coffee soon. I have some fascinating family history to share."

Nina smiled grimly. The game with Ernest might be ending, but it seemed a new one with Vanessa was just beginning.