INT. THOMPSON FAMILY MANSION – LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOONThere was a tension in the air that was as thick as a knife could cut.Eliana rigidly sat on the couch edge, legs crossed, hands clasped on her lap as if to hold back a flood. Across from her, Benedict Thompson, her father—who was still immaculately dressed in his clean navy suit even at home—walked steadily, arms crossed over his chest. His face was unyielding, but his silence was cacophony.Near the fire, Saben Thompson, her older brother, leaned against the mantel, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on Eliana like a cop waiting for a confession."I said," Saben repeated, "he's coming here? Tonight?"Eliana's throat bobbed. "Yes."Her father finally turned to her. "What does he want, Eliana?""To talk," she said, her voice small. "To tell me why he did what he did and to get to know you.""Oh really? Hmm, let me see him tomorrow."The next day, the crunch of tires on gravel in the driveway made all three stop.Eliana's eyes mov
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