The first indication that something was wrong arrived at 6:17 p.m. It was not through a phone call. It was not through Harrison either. It was not even through Mara Ellison's increasingly irritating legal correspondence.The warning arrived through a man who had worked for my father for almost thirty years.Edwin Mercer never called without reason.He had been Arthur Blackthorne's personal attorney, estate coordinator, strategist, and occasional accomplice for so long that the line between those roles had become impossible to distinguish.After Arthur died, Edwin retired.Or at least he claimed to.The man still knew more about Blackthorne family affairs than anyone alive.Including me. Especially me.When his name appeared on my screen, I answered immediately. "Edwin."Silence greeted me first. That alone was enough to make me sit upright."Edwin?"His voice came through a second later and it sounded older. Tighter. Concerned. None of which suited him. "Kieran."I felt alarmed at h
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