The sun had only dipped beneath the Thompson Estates when Saben arrived, his sleek black car curling up the winding drive lined with trimmed hedges and white hydrangeas. The estate, ancient and elegant, bore the weight of three generations of power and legacy.Inside, the high-ceilinged living room vibrated with the scent of rosemary roast and soft classical music. Crystal chandeliers cast golden sparkles on waxed marble floors.Benedict Thompson, never slow on his feet even in his navy cashmere sweater, was spinning a wine glass by the fireplace. His wife, Sabrina, reclined on the velvet chaise, as lovely and poised as the CEO she once was.Grandmother Teresa sat beside the bookshelf, reading an old copy of The Art of War, as Leila Auburn, the naughty one of the two grandmothers, adjusted her diamond earrings, smiling.And sitting beside the big chair by the window was Wendy Taylor, great-grandmother at 97, whose entrance still felt like a royal decree. Cane in hand, shawl draped over
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