The body lay sprawled across the marble floor, blood pooling around the head like a macabre halo. Detective Sarah Morgan ducked under the yellow police tape, her keen eyes scanning the opulent mansion for clues. A crystal chandelier sparkled overhead, casting fractured rainbows across the victim's still face and expensive silk suit. The housekeeper who discovered him stood trembling in the corner, her weathered hands clutching a handkerchief to muffle sobs. "Time of death estimated between midnight and two AM," announced the medical examiner, not looking up from the corpse. Morgan crouched beside the victim, noting the absence of defensive wounds and the single, precise cut across his throat. "Richard Harrington, fifty-eight, tech billionaire with enemies in high places," her partner said, reading from his notepad with furrowed brow. On the mahogany desk, a half-empty tumbler of whiskey sat undisturbed, lipstick smudged faintly along its crystal rim. "The security system was disabled at eleven forty-five exactly," stated the uniformed officer, handing Morgan the preliminary security report. Morgan's gaze drifted to the family portrait above the fireplace, where five smiling faces belied the mansion's current grim reality.