Thinking About Alice

The day hadn’t ended when my schedules finally did.

By the time the last meeting concluded and the final signature dried on paper, the sun had already begun its slow descent beyond the glass walls of my office. The city outside glowed with artificial light, cars moving like veins of fire beneath me. Normally, I would have stayed longer—worked later—pushed myself until exhaustion numbed everything else.

But today, something tugged at me.

Something restless.

My assistant drove me straight to the Markston family estate.

The gates opened slowly, iron bars parting as the car rolled in. The familiar gravel path crunched beneath the tires, the mansion looming ahead like an old sentinel of power and tradition. I had been here countless times, yet tonight it felt different—like I was stepping into a space that no longer fully belonged to me.

The old patriarch was already outside.

He sat in his garden, relaxed beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, dressed in light-colored leisure wear, one