About 250 Miles Away in Falmouth, MA, Three Hours Earlier

Emmett Richardson disconnects with his daughter Tiffany and turns to his wife Robin, smiling, "Everything's going to plan, hon. Tiff just confirmed what the Bursar's office told us: they've thrown her out of that worthless major of hers, saddled her with a massive debt she'll never pay off working as some kind of cashier, and she's got to be out of her dorm in a little over three hours."

His wife of 25 years smiles over at him from where she's trimming a rock juniper in bonsai, training it in much the same way the world is now training their young daughter: trimming stray branches the way Tiffany's stray interests and ambitions are being trimmed, then binding what remains so that it grows into the proper form. Stunting growth in all directions but those desired.

"Oh, how lovely," she gushes, carefully clipping a stray branch, "I wish we could be there to see her face when the school starts demanding repayment anyway and the Education department starts levying penalties and fines."

Emmett crosses the room and stands behind his wife, rubbing her shoulders. "You are a genuinely wicked woman," he says, quoting his favorite corruption-of-innocence movie, "I think you're enjoying this a little too much."

Robin turns and smiles again, "Don't be silly, dear. Tiffy will be MUCH happier once she loosens up a little and accepts that pleasing people with her body is what she's meant to do. Besides, if she just makes one or two smart decisions, she'll be able to pay those silly fines out of petty cash."

"Mmm. And if she doesn't, well, they'll still be her decisions and we'll still support them, just like we supported that Gender Studies nonsense. Speaking of decisions, I told her I'd try to find some 'friends' in the city she could stay with. Now I've got to decide which of the names Senator Kennedy gave me I should send on to her."

"Well, who are they?"

"Let's see," he rumbles, "There's a pornographer ... the guy who makes those 'College Girls Gone Crazy' videos, the owner of an 'escort service' ... I guess the best name for him would be pimp, and then there's a woman who owns a chain of 'gentlemen's clubs.' I suppose she might be a pimp ... madam? ... too."

"Why not send her all three? No need to limit her choices, after all."

"Excellent! What would I do without you?"

"Probably flail around helplessly a lot more than you already do, dear. But wait a few hours before you text those to her."

"Eh? Why?"

Robin puts down her bonsai clippers and turns to face her towering, ham-fisted, lovable husband. She wraps her arms around his waist and presses her head against his chest.

"Because you want to maintain the illusion that you had to CALL all three of them," she whispers, letting her hands circle his waist and grab his butt, "To let her friend Nicole introduce her to her sister's cam whore roommate, and because thinking about Tiffy fucking strangers for money has me ALL hot and bothered. You, husband of mine, are going to be BUSY for the next little while."

"Woman, you are going to be the **** of me."

"Can you think of any better way to go?"