The spreadsheet was printed and clipped to a board when I arrived at Eleanor’s house at 9:02 a.m. Luther was already there, dressed not in a suit but in dark, precise casual wear. He’d arranged the main room with clinical efficiency: banker’s boxes, archival labels, a trash bin, a donation bin. The air still smelled faintly of the previous day's flowers and catered food."Your zone is the living area and kitchen," he stated, handing me the board and a tablet synced to the master file. "Start with Category 3 items: decorative objects, non-essential kitchenware. Apply the filter. I will handle the study and financial documents."He turned and walked into the small study, closing the door. He was treating this like a corporate audit. I took a breath, looked at the first item on the list—Item: Ceramic vase (blue), Location: mantel—and walked over to it.It was cheap, probably from a market, painted with clumsy cornflowers. I lifted it. A memory surfaced: Eleanor, last summer, pointing to
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