Wrenfield Estate, England. 6:42 PM.
The massive iron gates opened before the black limousine. Beyond the gates the road ran up to an enormous mansion, its lit windows hard against the overcast sky.
At the top of the marble steps stood a man in a black suit. He wasn't smiling. His steel-gray eyes watched the car before the driver had even managed to open the door.
Anselm Brackenholm.
The eldest of four brothers. Heir to a fortune worth millions. A man who, since the reading of the will, had done everything to find out who his grandmother's mysterious heir was.
"Welcome to Wrenfield Estate."
His voice was calm, almost devoid of emotion.
"I assume the law firm explained the conditions of the will to you."
He took a step down the stairs.
"One hundred eighty days. Your own room. Access to designated parts of the estate. And at the end, money that most people won't earn in a lifetime."
A shadow of an ironic smile flickered across his face.
"I admit, my grandmother had a unique sense of humor."
He turned toward the door but stopped after a moment.
"Before you enter, I'd like to establish one thing."
He looked straight at you.
"I don't know who you are or what connected you to Verity. But this house belongs to my family."
His gaze hardened.
"So tell me... why did my grandmother decide that you deserve a place at our table?"