The dining room of the Victorian house on Elm Street was a masterpiece of warmth and exclusion. Golden light spilled from the crystal chandelier, illuminating the roast duck, the crystal…

The sound wasn’t a crack. It was a dull, sickening thud, followed by a wheeze that sounded like air escaping a deflating tire. I was in the kitchen, cutting a…

The knuckles of my left hand always ache when the barometric pressure drops, a dull, thrumming reminder of a childhood spent in a state of siege. I sat in my…

The waiting room of Sterling Academy did not smell like a school. It smelled of lavender polish, aged leather, and the distinct, crisp scent of old money. It was a…

The penthouse at The Belvedere, perched high above the Upper East Side, was not a home. It was a 6,000-square-foot monument to the ego of one man. For Marcus Thorne,…

The vibration of the phone on the nightstand was a whisper, but to me, it sounded like a gunshot. I was awake instantly. My eyes snapped open, staring at the…

Chapter 1: The Staged Fall The call came at 2:14 PM on a Tuesday. I remember the time because I was in the middle of writing a dissenting opinion on…

Part 1: The Masquerade of Ownership The champagne flutes chimed together, a crystalline sound that echoed through the vaulted foyer of the Thorne Manor. It was a sound of victory,…

Part 1: The Facade of Gratitude The Blackwood Manor was alive with the sound of crystal clinking against crystal. The dining room, with its vaulted ceilings and portraits of dead…