Bailey’s eyes had welled, turning her cheek to disguise the surprising show of emotion. Regina watched her daughter, taking another long sip of bourbon. The glass felt threateningly light, emptying faster than she realised. She took a slow, steadying breath in through her nose. Relaying the cold, hard facts to her children had left Regina feeling somewhat empty. Her body a shell, heart rattling in fragments somewhere within her rib cage. She had a sudden burning desire to burst out from the Pool House, flee to the bedroom and shake Anthony awake. This could not be their reality. This mess. Life as a Blackstone wife was not without its fair share of mess, but her husbands untimely death had to be the biggest mess of all.

And here she was, stood in a room full of her half-orphaned children, talking tactics amidst a tragedy. Regina gritted her teeth, jaw tensing, cheekbones protruding. It was around now that, albeit a small part of her, wished to surrender. She could simply shut the Pool House doors and disappear into the crevice of the sofa. A wreck, as would be expected of her. But Regina’s determination to emerge from this tragedy as unscathed as possible, all things considered, was the overarching feeling. Defeat in the face of her husbands death was not an option.

Breaking through Regina’s mental haze, the sound of the Pool House door slamming shut was what thrusted her back into her body. Mariana. She’d always been the emotional child. Always overcome with feelings. The poor girl had the entire Blackstone family’s share, it seemed. She was most comparable to her father in that sense. He, too, was an emotional being. Buried somewhere beneath Anthony’s callous ways was his treasure chest of feelings, only accessible by very few. Mariana, on the other hand, wore her heart on her sleeve. Regina sniffed. She wished in that moment that she’d taught her wayward daughter to master her emotions. Grand exits like this one wouldn’t go over well in the eyes of the Police nor the Press.

Edward’s chilling gaze watched on as his sister fled the Pool House, stepping forward from his position by the window. Ever the eldest, he fixed Regina with an inquisitive and challenging gaze.

“So what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Are we staying here, booking a hotel, what? If the detectives are going to be grilling us about Father's death, I assume we're not going far."

The glass, empty, felt suddenly laden in Regina’s grasp. She cradled it a moment, debating whether pouring another would alarm her remaining watchful children. Bailey shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“I- haven’t packed to stay…” Bailey said slowly, her voice quiet in comparison to Edward’s commanding tone.

Regina took two slow steps towards the coffee table, placing the glass on a vacant coaster. The action struck a chord within her, her thoughts straying to the night before. Anthony theatrically using the coaster, as Regina had griped, and the sight of his back as he left the dining room. She’d watched him leave that night, not knowing that it would be the final time. The realisation was like a slap across her face. Feeling unsteady, Regina lowered herself onto the sofa with an audible exhale. The cocktail of her speech, the memory of her husband and the bourbon was swirling in her stomach.

“Edward,” she sighed wearily, her voice strained. “I’m not 100% certain what Detective Russel’s plan is. But if Anthony’s death is indeed being considered suspicious, we’ll need to be on hand-“ her blue eyes found Edward’s in the room, shooting him an earnest look. “The Manor is your home. You’re welcome to stay. Though I’m afraid we’ll be bound to the Guest House until the forensics make themselves scarce…”

Regina’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. Eyes sliding from Edward to the screen, Ryland’s name staring back at her. She absently reached for the phone, bringing it closer to her so she could read what the lawyer had to say.

“Katherine, I imagine it’ll be hard for you to be away from Samuel… Perhaps he’ll join us here after the Will Reading?” A clumsy attempt at emphasising with her youngest daughter. The only one to have managed to nurture a seemingly healthy relationship.

Regina’s thoughts were abruptly cut off. Ryland’s message was open in her hand, the words leaping out from the screen and gauging at her eyes.

Regina. I’ve invited Kayleigh to the Will Reading tomorrow. It’s necessary for her to be present.

Something like rage and horror rippled through her. The sentences blurred. Letters melting into one another. Regina read and reread the message. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the phone tighter. Her lip curled. Disgust.

“It seems it won’t just be family at the Reading tomorrow, children-“ she bit out, tossing her phone against the sofa cushions with more venom than she’d anticipated. “Your father’s fucking PA’s attendance has also been requested.”

Between Mariana suddenly leaving, Bailey unable to establish her foothold in the conversation, and the encroaching realization that Father's personal assistant would, for some reason, be present at the will reading, Edward was starting to find the air in the Pool House a little suffocating. Undoing the top button of his shirt for a little freedom, Edward shifted onto his other foot, his body leaning towards the doors of the Pool House.

"Guest house it is, then," he resolved, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I don't intend on traveling all over the place; that's money I don't need to spend. If you don't mind, I'm going to try and drill it into Mariana's head that leaving probably isn't the best idea. Do us all a favor and pull yourselves together, though. We're Blackstones. Falling apart at the seams isn't what we're known for, so try to keep up appearances. God forbid I have to find out through some emotional breakdown that Father's dead because of one of you."

And there it was, the first volley. He looked around briefly, gauging their reactions to see if one of them could be culpable. Would it be his mother? A crime of passion, or lack thereof? Could it have been Katherine, clambering for even more power? She was already a CEO of a security firm under the Blackstone name. Perhaps she desired everything else within the umbrella. Bailey? Her timidness could be a facade. Who knows what kind of viciousness lay behind that pillowy veneer?

And Mariana—it didn't help her case that she decided to run off first chance she got. Pointing a finger was easy.

Edward didn't stick around to hear their rebuttals—there would be plenty of time to get their stories. Besides, he wanted to let them prepare so he could catch them off guard. That was the allure of it all, to let his opponents have all the time they needed to get ready, only for him to blindside their defenses in unexpected ways. It was the type of calculating, cold, creative exactness he was known for in his circles.

Crossing the threshold of the pool house and back out into the yard felt like teleportation, transitioning dimensions from a dark and foreboding hellscape into an idyllic paradise. Despite the gloom of dark clouds overhead, Edward felt more at home outside than anywhere else. Just the thought of it filled him with frustration. At some point, he'd need to go back home, deal with more suits, make more faces, become even more entombed in glass and stone and steel and asphalt. He liked the life he had because it was self-made, but his name carried more weight than he ever could, and even he knew that he wouldn't have what he did without it. Perhaps he should get it changed. Start fresh.

As he rounded the back corner of the manor wall and pushed through the gates, he caught notice of Mariana on the other side, waiting for her driver. She looked like she was losing grip on her emotions even from where he stood. Calming her down and making her see reason would be difficult, but he had to try.

"Hey," Edward started, hoping his voice would catch her attention.

---

Mariana waits for what she believed to be far too long. Where was Benoit? Was there traffic? Fuck she needed to get out of here. The more the situation sat in her mind, the more anxious she felt.

“Hey”

Marianas head whips around, seeing Edward. She relaxes slightly, seeing as how he was the person that she would have preferred to speak to out of literally anyone else. It doesn’t mean she wants to talk to him. “Hi.” She says, her voice right at she sends another message to Benoit

---

There was a sharp, sudden intake of breath upon hearing the least expected word in that day’s vocabulary: murder. Her father’s death hadn’t been caused by illness, nor an accident. Someone had gotten to him and ended his life. Someone very possibly carrying the Blackstone name or an employee fed up with the man, and that list was quite long. Because, who else would have pulled it off? Katherine swallowed hard, finding the nearest seat to get off her feet. She set the drink on the floor with the intention of clearing her mind and not letting her thoughts overwhelm her.

Katherine stared at her mother and her siblings like a deer caught in the headlights. The shock was cycling through her and she needed a moment to collect herself. Deep breaths, telling herself to focus... The news was a blow but she wasn’t particularly sad. How could she be?

“I’ll get a team out here,” she finally added in response to her mother’s request. The first and only words spoken. The young woman wasn’t particularly happy about the arrangements, but it’s not like they were left with much of a choice. Though Katherine would’ve loved to have Samuel beside her, she felt it best to keep him away from this mess. This was her mess, hers and theirs, and she wanted to protect him at all costs.

"Excuse me for a moment.”

Katherine would make that phone call now, bringing out a small team to the property.

The newly-widowed mother felt her body go stiff at her son’s words. She stared at a warped floorboard of the Pool House, unblinking and frozen. The world went quiet and Regina sat on the sofa, legs folded beneath her, letting the silence fill the room like rising water. Katherine had made her excuses to arrange for a security team and Edward was taking it upon himself to check on Mariana. That left just Regina and Bailey. Alone.

She turned her head slowly, bones creaking with the effort, and fixed her daughter with a vacant stare.

“Are you staying? At the Guest House?”

The question was short. Sharp. Bailey looked surprised to be addressed, eyes widened at her mother’s attention. Regina swallowed, knowing her tone was accusatory as opposed to curious. Her daughter shifted. She watched her, Anthony’s eyes staring back. That was the trouble with losing your husband. The father to your children. His death didn’t mean she’d never see him again. In fact, Regina would see him everywhere she turned. In the house, the bed, the smell of the air, on her skin, in the eyes of their children… Anthony wasn’t gone. He was nowhere and everywhere all at once.

”I don’t see what other option I have,” Bailey shrugged.

Regina nodded slowly. Her mind wondered to the Guest House and its 4 bedrooms. She mentally counted the beds, allocated them to the children, and decided she’d sleep on the sofa. Lola would normally be the one to prepare the guest rooms… But she was currently indisposed. So, despite carrying the weight of grief and shock in every fibre of her being, Regina rose from the sofa and decided she’d do it herself. She shot Bailey a look and gestured with a flick of her wrist that she should follow. Together, they circled the pool and slowly walked side by side in the direction of the Blackstone Guest House.

“Mrs Blackstone!” someone called from behind them. Regina’s head whipped round, a suspicious look on her face, to find Detective Russel jogging towards them. “There you are. Can I have a moment?”

A breeze whipped at Regina’s hair and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The thin material of her blouse did little to protect her from the bite of the air around them and she narrowed her eyes at the Detective as he neared closer and closer. Face ironed of any real emotions, Russel paused a moment as he gathered his breath. She glanced at Bailey who was watching the Detective with an expression prey would have as a bird circled overhead.

“Forensics are almost wrapped up inside. They’ll be done in a few hours… We’ve had to take the property’s laptops and hard drives in for examination - Sorry, I would’ve given you a heads up if you’d been around…” Nothing about the Detective’s tone was remorseful. His apology was merely professional curtesy, she supposed. That prickled irritation in Regina. She resisted the urge to sneer in response. “House should be clear for you by morning… Though the Team aren’t paid to clean up. It’s not looking as pristine as you left it I’m afraid, Mrs Blackstone.”

Regina nodded once. Curtly. She shot a glance at the Guest House, then turned back to face Russel who was watching her carefully.

“We’re going to do everything we can to figure out what’s happened here, Mrs Blackstone,” Detective Russel continued, slipping his hands into his pockets. “But we’re going to need your help to get to the bottom of this…” he looked pointedly at Bailey, who had taken a slow step back towards the Guest House. “And by that, I mean all of you. We’ll need a couple of days to analyse the evidence collected today. But then, in the spirit of transparency, we’ll need to bring each of you down to the station for questioning, alright? Just to get more of an idea of the circumstances surrounding Anthony’s murder.”

Dread wrecked Regina’s body. She couldn’t imagine herself in the cold, stale walls of a police interview room. Did these sharks have no shame? No sympathy for a family grieving the loss of a life? Did they have no other leads they could be following instead of wasting time with the fragments of a shattered family? Regina parted her lips to let the words fall out. She lifted her chin defiantly at the Detective who watched her with an intimidating neutrality. Something flickered in his eyes. Like he was seeing something he wouldn’t say out loud. Regina’s mouth snapped shut and she simply nodded once again.

“If that’s all, Detective, my children and I are going to go and set up the Guest House for the night,” Dismissive. Guarded. It was all she could muster in response. What little fire remained lit in Regina’s chest was used to put up one final wall. “I assume you’ll see yourselves out.”

And with that, she turned on her heels and walked away, each step turning her legs to jelly. The gravel crunched beneath her feet, echoed steps behind her as Bailey followed. Regina felt tears prickle behind her eyes and she swiped at them angrily, frustrated that her impenetrable shield had been breached by the Detective’s words.

“Anthony…”
“Murder…”
“Evidence…”
“Questioning…”

They echoed in the chamber of Regina’s mind and she swallowed at them as they formed a lump in her throat. Bailey coughed awkwardly behind her.

“W-When they say questioning,” her daughter began, feigning curiosity to disguise her nerves. “They just mean, like, information gathering, right? They’re not actually questioning us, are they? We’re his children!”

The door of the Guest House creaked as they entered, the smell of dust and stale air filled the front room. Regina’s nose scrunched at the unfamiliar scent. There’s little she wouldn’t do to be able to return to the homely familiarity of the Manor. Her eyes scanned the minimalist decor, the lack of photos, the absence of life… The Guest House was a far cry from the comfort of the Manor. But it was home, for the night. She took a few more steps into the Reception room, neck craning as she peered around, remembering the space from summers spent before. Regina sighed. She turned to look at Bailey before she got to work and lifted her slender shoulders in a slow shrug.

“Bailey. Why don’t you go and fetch your brother and sisters? Tell them it’s unwise to loiter whilst the Police vacate the Manor. I don’t want Detective Russel finding an excuse to talk to them. Especially not Mariana.”

"I'm not saying you had anything to do with it," Edward replied, a finger tracing the ridge of the cigarette case in his coat pocket. "But, suddenly vanishing before the cops have a chance to speak with us doesn't paint the best picture. Don't get me wrong, I completely understand not wanting to be here—I certainly fucking hate being here, that's for sure—but we have to stick around until the questioning's done. I'm sure that even the two of us can handle something like that."

He could see Mariana tapping away at her phone, sending messages to Benoit, someone that Edward had little familiarity with, but knew he was more hired help than anything. Chances are that he was on his way back to pick her up as he spoke. He wondered if Benoit knew Gideon. Perhaps they were part of the same circle, both employed privately by Blackstone progeny. Perhaps they've never met. Little did his mind wonder to Gideon's penchant for poker and Cuban cigars, or the driver's fascination with swans. They were worlds apart enough as it was.

---

Marianas jaw clenched, her eyes closing for a moment as she sends a last message to Benoit before looking back to her brother.

She doesn’t say anything, an annoyed fire in her eyes. He was right. She knew he was right. Mariana could do nothing to change that fact that she, like all of her siblings and mother, were suspects for murder.

What a damper on the mood.

“If they want to speak with me, they can do so in my home. Not some beach house of station.” She says, pulling a notepad from her purse, writing her address down as Benoit pulls up. “Here. Give them this if they ask for me. If not, I don’t exist. Yeah?” She hands him the paper, walking to the car before pausing, her hand in the door handle.

“You…you don’t actually think one of us killed him…right?” She asks, her voice softer now, more vulnerable.

---

The line went dead, though the phone remained pressed against her ear for a brief moment. She and Samuel had just said their goodbyes after delivering the news that coming home wouldn't be possible at the moment. The news hit him hard, but he understood. He always understood.

With a sigh, Katherine lowered the phone to dial her assistant, Natasha. It was time to get some personnel on site as her mother had requested; admittedly, not a half-bad idea, though she was sure her siblings would be less than thrilled.

"Natasha, it's me. I'm going to need a small team at my mother's estate. I'll text you the names."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine..."

Katherine wasn't lying, though she refrained from elaborating any further.

"Thank you, Natasha."

The phone was finally put away, and she looked up to see her siblings in the distance. Katherine began walking in their direction as a car was approaching. Apparently, Mariana had intended to leave, which wasn't a smart move.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Bailey trailed after Regina like a shadow, her gaze vacant as they prepped the guest house. The Blackstone Manor staff had maintained the accommodation well enough, but Regina needed something to preoccupy her mind. Layered, nervous chatter echoed as she fluffed cushions and changed bed sheets. She and Bailey moved in silence, save for the occasional instruction, avoiding one another’s gaze. Regina worried that if Bailey looked at her for too long, she’d see the cracks that had begun to form across the surface. The image of her husband, cold and unmoving, atop the undisturbed sheets of their marital bed crept up on her like a thief in the night. As her fingers fiddled with the buttons of a fresh duvet cover, skin uselessly sliding over the tiny buttons, Regina bit down on her bottom lip to prevent the tiny scream from leaving her. How was this utter nightmare her new reality? Not only did she have to digest the fact her husband had been murdered… But she had to look in the eyes of his air-headed PA tomorrow? At a Will Reading? She gritted her teeth. The muscles in her jaw became rigid with tension, Bailey shooting her nervous glances as they finished the last of the bedding.

“Mother, I’m… I’m sorry…” Bailey’s voice, hoarse and barely audible, broke the silence. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be on you… I can barely keep it together myself…”

It felt as though her daughter were picking at a wound that had barely scabbed over. Regina’s spine straightened and her shoulders became set. She let out an exasperated sigh, wondering how she could even begin to respond. Her soul felt tired. Spent. She could sense that Bailey was trying. Trying to fill the silence? Trying to offer comfort? She wasn’t sure. But she was, indeed, trying. The grieving and emotionally constipated mother swallowed down the knee-jerk reaction to be cutting and dismissive. She folded her arms, watching Bailey pick at the skin around her nails anxiously.

“Your Father would’ve wanted us to be smart about this. He would’ve said ‘Control what we can control… Let go what we cannot -‘“ she faltered, wrestling with the idea of her husband saying anything at all. She wouldn’t ever hear him speak again. An eternal silence. “So we let the Detectives do their job. The sooner they’re out of our way, the better. It’s their job to figure this out. Let them chase theories and analyse the evidence… But, Bailey, I don’t want us saying anything to them beside the need-to-know. You answer their questions but don’t go over explaining or over sharing, okay?”

Bailey didn’t feel remotely comforted by her mother’s words, and that much was obvious. She kept her eyes lowered, still gnawing at her fingers thoughtfully. She seemed… Jittery? Shoulders hunched. Chin almost touching her chest. Teeth nibbling at an area on her thumb nail bed that had begun to bleed… Regina arched a brow at her daughter, as if seeing her for the first time.

“Bailey,” she snapped. Her daughter flinched. “Whatever it is you’re wrestling with internally, I need you to pull yourself together,” she spoke firmly, her tone cool and almost cutting. “This anxious energy you’re portraying doesn’t come off as grief or shock. It’s unsettling. You won’t last 2 minutes in an interview room with this kind of attitude. I’d recommend getting some sleep…” she relented, seeing the hurt pinching Bailey’s already plagued expression. “I know you were closest with your Father out of all you kids but… Stop chewing at your nails like you haven’t had a good meal. If you’re hungry, eat something.”

And with that, Regina left the room. Something had become even more unsettled within her. Not only had her husband been murdered in the safety of their own home, the police would no doubt be taking a look at those closest to Anthony first. When women were murdered, everyone always said “Look at the husband first.” They’d interpret tears as fake, hesitation as guilt, silence as calculated… The press would have a field day with the Blackstones. As soon as this reached public knowledge, Regina was sure the world would be looking to her. “A gold digger” “A bad mother” “A bad wife” “Lady of leisure chasing the next fortune”… Journalists would say it all, disregarding the need for truth. She perched on the edge of one of the guest beds, clammy hands clasped in her lap. She couldn’t think straight. The constant stream of consciousness that reverberated through her mind was deafening. The same question on her lips would soon become headlines: “Who murdered Anthony Blackstone?”



Regina had bolted awake that morning before the sun had risen. She’d retired to her bedroom in the Guest House immediately after her conversation with Bailey, deciding that she needed the quiet and seclusion of time to herself. As she sat bolt upright in the foreign bed she’d woken up in, Regina massaged her temples. She remembered how she’d spent her night last night, details feeling fuzzy…

She recalled she’d taken a bottle of good red wine from the rack, a bulbous glass and locked the bedroom door behind her. She found herself scrolling through her and Anthony’s message thread, eyes skimming over the blunt back and forth they usually engaged in. There was a glaring lack of warmth in their texts, no pet names nor “I love yous.” It was all technicalities and scheduling. Mostly Anthony telling her he wouldn’t be home until late. She swallowed back the Argentinian Malbec, enjoying the furry feeling of tannins coating her mouth. Once Regina had seen off half the bottle, something occurred to her. No doubt the police would be sifting through Anthony’s emails and messages, going through them with a fine toothed comb. She gulped.

Opening a new window in the browser on her phone, Regina had typed in her husband’s email address. She stared at the empty box asking her to enter the password. It took three incorrect entries before the page refreshed and revealed her husband’s inbox.

When the messages flooded her screen, Regina had narrowed her eyes as she’d scrolled through them, wondering what she might find…

She’d sent for breakfast and a fresh suit to be delivered to the Guest House that morning. Why should the Blackstone staff rest when the family could barely breathe? Regina treated herself to a bath with salts and lavender oil. She’d soaked for half an hour, staring blankly out the bathroom window, a strange numbness polluting her body. She willed the bath to loosen her muscles, to relax the tension that gripped every bit of her. But it did nothing but made her sweat and wrinkled.

Battling the headache that pounded beneath her skull, Regina dressed herself. Hands trembling, heart beating loudly in her chest against all odds. Last nights discoveries in Anthony’s inbox had her moving like a ghost. She headed down the stairs of the Guest House, feet barely registering each step, every movement feeling like her bones were made of lead. She’d called for Anthony’s driver to bring the Sprinter. The family would travel to Royson & Browne together. They had to give at least the resemblance of being a united front. Regina barely spoke a word that morning, her lashes thick with mascara hiding bloodshot eyes. The Sprinter weaved in and out of traffic on the way to the Attorney Office. Being beyond the Manor hedgerows brought Regina an unsettled feeling she couldn’t shake. She looked thin beneath the tweed material of her suit, the picture of a hardened grieving wife. A haunting beauty.

Royson sat at the head of the table, his offices modern and clean. He greeted Regina with a somber nod, shuffling papers in front of him. She took slow steps to a seat in the centre of the boardroom-like table, eyes lowered. The Blackstone children joined her, seats gradually filling. A few pain staking minutes dragged by in silence, the air thick with words unspoken. When the office door swung open, Regina scrunched her nose at the scent of vanilla perfume that she recognised from her late husbands collar.

Kayleigh Waters breezed into the stagnantly professional office with a mixture of defiance and seemingly forced sadness. Regina could barely look at her, a sickness bubbling in her stomach that made her want to dive across the table and pummel her husbands PA with the nearest blunt object. Kayleigh’s peroxide blonde hair was freshly curled, pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her skin glowed bronze from a recent holiday and gold hoops dangled from her ears. She didn’t seem to share the immense discomfort of the Blackstone family at her presence. In fact, her chin was lifted defiantly as she scanned the room.

“Sad how it takes a tragedy to get family all in one room together, isn’t it?” Kayleigh said, her nasal tone licked with sarcasm.

Regina’s head shot up as if she’d been slapped clean round the face. She gave Kayleigh a withering look, her fingernails digging into the wood of the table. Her teeth gritted, Regina cocked her head.

“Well, this room does not solely consist of family,” Regina retorted, shooting Anthony’s PA a pointed look.

Kayleigh fell silent, her lipglossed lips pressed firmly together as if to trap anything further coming out. A deathly silence fell, each of the Blackstone family members looking round as Ryland cleared his throat. The lawyer, to his credit, seemed unphased by the exchange. Instead, he tapped his stack of paperwork on the table as a signal that he’d be beginning the reading. The children were about to finally find out exactly how much had been left to them… And it seems so would Kayleigh.

---

Maybe it was the thunder that led her to have such a restless night, or maybe it was the fact that this was the first time in years that she was staying on the property, which unfortunately wasn’t for a good reason… Or both. Katherine stared back at her reflection with unmistakably tired eyes; her hair messy from the seemingly endless tossing and turning. She also recalled being jolted awake at one point from her body tricking her into believing she was about to fall of the bed.

A sigh escaped her lips before she bowed forward to wash her face. Her phone sitting on the side of the sink began to ring, and she was already annoyed knowing who it was without having to look at the screen.

Katherine picked up the call almost immediately, drops of water falling from her face before she reached for the small towelette with her free hand. Sam and her talked for a few minutes. For some unknown reason, Katherine wasn’t looking forward to the day. In fact, she was dreading it just a bit. But that was news she didn’t bother to share, not even with her partner of years. The young woman rushed through the conversation, hoping Sam would get the hint without making it sound too intentional. And after a few quick minutes, he advised that he needed to get moving. That was his tell, but at least he didn’t push the typical “what’s wrong” like he usually did every once in a while.

It was some time later when Katherine arrived for the will reading. She was dressed in a simple, dark grey dress and a black coat paired with black heels. The young woman had previously perfected the art of looking genuinely pleasant when offering the typical greeting such as “good morning”, smiling politely to whomever she saw as she made her way through the office before arriving at the conference room. Katherine then greeted those present, and the charade stopped there.

To busy herself while waiting for things to commence, Katherine took out her cell phone and answered some quick work emails. To be honest, none were urgent, but it did help keeping her nerves in check. And all was fine until her father’s PA arrived.

Her voice alone was annoying, and the remark she had made… Katherine stopped her typing, looking at Kayleigh dead in the eyes. This conniving whore really had opened with that comment.

The youngest child cleared her throat, intentionally setting the phone down on the table in front of her with enough force to draw attention while simultaneously not being overly dramatic.

The question kept Edward up all night. He didn't feel like leaving his suit for a pair of silk pajamas, no matter how frequent the staff were in asking him to change. It was like they were desperate to do their jobs for fear of having their livelihoods taken away from them. He replayed the events of the conversation with Adeline in his head, of the words spoken he couldn't bring himself to give sound. He knew Adeline was getting off scot-free; perhaps it was for the best. She may have been flighty, but she wasn't a murderer. Perhaps that was the best reason why she could be, but he chose to believe otherwise. He could see it in her eyes when she slipped beneath the shade of Benoit's car door. They were the eyes of a lost lamb in a den of wolves.

In the morning, Edward did his best to straighten the suit in which he slept and free it of wrinkles, though he largely didn't care at that moment. A short combing and a few spritzes of sea salt and cedarwood later, and he was suddenly in the Sprinter van, opting for the backseat with a clear view of the rear window. Behind his shades, he watched conspicuous cars pull out of parallel parking and trail the van for a mile, flashes breaching their front windshields, and he sighed. Someone in the team must've tipped off the paparazzi, though these days, those flagrant, soulless beings just somehow knew all the information. They camped out in their cars, in trees, in any place they could get a vantage point. Though the walls of Blackstone Manor were high, the paparazzi's penchant for bullshittery was mountainous.

By the time the van reached the offices of Royson & Browne, there were no photographers in sight, but he wouldn't have been surprised if they decided to swarm the steps leading up to their door. However, the trek inside was largely ineffectual—a silent ascent into the belly of a beast who held the last words of a dead man. All of this played like a slot machine in Edward's mind as he took his seat at the large pill-shaped table. He wondered how many families were here before them, awaiting their scraps like starving dogs, as they were about to do.

The scent of Edward's cologne was almost immediately decapitated by a guillotine of sharp vanilla as Kayleigh Waters, his father's personal assistant—and, much to his mother's dismay, his 'new car'—invaded the room like a virus. Edward conjured up the amusing idea of lighting every cigarette in his case at once, though the thought of so much smoke in the room was inconvenient. Edward was silent as she addressed the room with a rather backhanded remark.

“𝚂𝚊𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚒𝚝?”

Kayleigh, for all her worth, was probably innocent, though another funny, even more fucked up thought emerged in Edward's brain. Perhaps the family should band together and frame her for Anthony's death. They all didn't like each other much, but they all liked her less.

Edward watched Ryland, his mother's personal lawyer, prepare the statements of the will, as he listened to the short exchange between Kayleigh and his mother. Say this for Regina Blackstone—she was sharp-witted and could make comebacks like none other. Edward earned his silver tongue and stripes in wordplay from her, there was no doubt. As he reminisced earlier days, his attention was taken to Katherine, who had set her phone on the table rather purposefully. Eyes on her, he waited as if expecting her to speak.